


no regrets if we walk this new road

by AndreaLyn



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deputy Kyle Valenti, Dr. Max Evans, F/M, Isobel Evans Esquire, M/M, Michael Guerin: PhD, Role Swap, S1 Canon Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 97,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23329681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: When Max can’t bring Rosa back on that fateful night, he, Michael, and Isobel embark on a new path that leads to UNM and completely different destinies.What they can't escape is that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Relationships: Isabel Evans/Kyle Valenti, Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 366
Kudos: 248





	1. Every Time I Close My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Endless amount of thanks will go to Tove and Crystal for the beta-reading on this, as they helped turned this from an okay story into something I am very proud of, and for Christi who kept encouraging me. 
> 
> Who the hell would have thought that a random "What If?" about Max and Kyle switching roles could lead to this, but here we are.
> 
> I will be posting updates to this weekly on Thursdays, ideally midday EST, and just like Roswell, it's going to have thirteen installments, so hopefully while you're enjoying S2, you can also enjoy a S1 rewrite.

Max flexes his fingertips, staring at them as the glow finally blinks out completely, all the energy and life fading as his failed attempts hit home. He’d tried so hard. He’d tried _everything_. What could he have done differently?

“Max.”

His body feels cold, as if he’s burned through every ounce of energy and heat. He’s sure that for months, when he closes his eyes, he’ll see the graffiti on the wall and the bodies on the ground. He’ll feel the fire near him and smell the char of the burning logs as they dwindle to embers. 

Right now, though, the only thing he can focus on are his hands.

“Max!”

He goes over it in his mind again – stumbling in after Michael, seeing Rosa collapse on the ground from Isobel’s arms, and sprinting to Rosa’s side, kicking up dust as he dives in next to the body. 

He’d dug his knees into the dusty earth beneath him, screaming so loudly that it had reverberated off the cave walls as he dug deep to find every ounce of power he had to try and bring her back. His hands glowed, but couldn’t spark life into Rosa, and he’d inevitably given up, sagging back onto the ground listlessly, careening to the side and puking until he feels like there’s nothing left in him. He vaguely recalls Michael rushing to his side, abandoning Isobel, who’s still standing there staring in a catatonic state. 

Now, Max is staring at his hands, a failure, not much better off than Isobel. 

“Hey,” Michael says roughly. “Come on, you need to drink.” Michael’s hand is trembling, bleeding, and bandaged, but he still forces a flask of acetone into Max’s hands. 

“I can’t…” Max protests, his eyes blurry with tears. He’s sick and he’s useless and he’s not strong enough. “I couldn’t heal her. I can’t bring her back.”

“She’s dead, Max,” Michael says quietly. “You couldn’t have.” 

“I should have been able to. I can heal,” he protests. “That’s what I can do. Isobel can go into people’s minds and you move stuff,” he keeps going, his voice breaking with a sob. “I should be able to heal her.”

He’s not strong enough, and as Max staggers to his feet with Michael’s shoulder hitching him up, they make their way back to Isobel, who seems to have dragged herself out of whatever catatonic state she’s been in. He can hear them talking about what they’re going to do, but Max doesn’t want to do anything other than stare at them.

How the hell is he going to explain what happened to Liz? 

“What _happened_?” Isobel asks, rubbing at her head. 

Max’s eyes widen as he gapes at her. Does she not remember? How does she not know that she’s the one who did this to them? He opens his mouth to remind her, but Michael beats him to the punch.

“It was me, Iz.”

What the fuck?

“I got in a fight earlier tonight and, and my powers, they were just out of control,” he rambles, wrapping his hand a little tighter in his sweater, preventing the blood from dripping on the ground. “It was like when I was younger and I had no control, I…” He trails off, panicked, and even though he’s lying, the panic is real.

It’s enough that Isobel buys it, and Max shakes his head, heart breaking to see Michael throw himself on the grenade like that.

“What do we do, Max?” Isobel asks him plaintively, curling into Michael from where he’s got a hold on her, holding onto the hem of his jacket like a small child. 

He’s not in the right headspace to think about this. He knows that their survival is critical. If the government sees Rosa lying there with Isobel’s handprint over her face, then they’re going to know they did something. Max pulls Isobel into a tighter embrace, Michael along with her, and begins to put the pieces together. They need a plan and they’re looking at Max to make that happen. He releases them, looking around them, and starts to pace around the cave, searching for any loose ends they’ll need to tie up.

The mark will fade in a matter of days. They just need to buy themselves some time.

“Michael,” he says. “Can you move them all inside? And then do something to block the entrance, like a cave in or something?”

He doesn’t think anyone knows this is Rosa’s space. Jasmine and Kate definitely wouldn’t come out here for a drug rendezvous and risk someone finding out by telling them where they’re going.

They just need to buy themselves _time_. 

Days, that’s all they need. If they need to, Isobel can go to the station and offer fake leads. He flexes his fingers, knowing that there’s so much potential evidence here, but at this moment, they’re the only ones who know about it, and if they buy time, then the fingerprints on the girls will vanish.

“Isobel,” Max says. “What have you touched in here? We need to take it with us.”

She looks uncertain, but begins to move around the cave to pick up a few items, but she looks completely lost. If Max didn’t know any better, he’d say that she’d never seen this place before, but that’s impossible. Finally, her arms full, she gives Max a nod. “I think this is everything.”

“Good,” Max says. “Take it outside, and don’t touch anything else.”

Michael stares at him, trying to understand the plan. “Wait, Max. _Wait_! We’re just leaving them here? Like this?” he asks, with a gesture to Rosa’s face.

“It doesn’t matter if they’re found,” Max reminds them, “we just need them to be found in a few days, once the mark goes away.”

“Michael,” Isobel whispers, lingering at the exit to the cave. “Why did you do it?”

Michael exchanges a look with Max, his face falling. Max still doesn’t know why Michael had done something as stupid as take the fall for Isobel, but it doesn’t matter now. “Not now, Isobel,” he says with a finality to it that he hopes she’ll listen to. He’ll figure out why Michael had been so determined to put himself in the path of destruction later. 

Right now, there are more important priorities. 

“Come on. Michael, get Kate and Jasmine in here. The cave in should cover the place in dust and make it harder to find anything incriminating. Isobel, double check, make sure that you’ve grabbed anything that looks like yours.”

With those commands given, they go to work. 

It takes them hours, which gives Max time to think about the utter useless feeling that’s still in him. His hands feel completely removed from the rest of his body, like something working against him. He can see the way Michael’s protecting his broken hand, sniffling and hiding tears as he moves the girls inside, staring at the corpses. 

“Hey,” Max says to Michael, when Isobel is zoned out, looking at her sweater as if she’s hyper fixating there to avoid anything else. “Are you okay? What happened to your hand, really? And what were you thinking, lying to her like that?” he hisses, voice quiet.

“I told you. Got in a fight.” He flexes his hand, exhaling shakily. “I had to do it, Max, I had to protect someone tonight,” is all Michael says. “If she doesn’t have to live with this guilt, I don’t mind. I’ve taken worse blows.”

Max recoils with guilt at the reminder. He’s felt everything from Michael, but he’d never wanted help. He always refused it, and eventually Max had stopped asking. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. Maybe he should have tried harder with both him and Isobel, paid more attention, and then maybe they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Isobel,” he calls after her. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

Once they’re clear of the cave, Michael takes a swig from the bottle of nail polish remover he’s been clutching close to his chest the whole time. He closes his eyes, whole body trembling with effort, but a pile of rocks too heavy to lift by hand tumbles down over the entrance, which will keep anyone from finding the bodies too quickly.

When they do, it will be a tragedy, but not one that will lead to them.

“We should go,” Isobel says, her voice distant and small. 

Max nods his agreement, but they don’t end up going too far. They all climb into the back of Michael’s truck instead of Max’s, passing around the bottle of acetone until there isn’t any left. None of them speak, which Max is grateful for. He has the feeling if he tried, he’d be attempting to explain what happened, or Michael’s lie might suddenly fall apart.

Instead, they sit there with the weight of their actions on their shoulders. 

Max’s head is a chaotic mess. He keeps flexing his fingers, staring at them and thinking about how useless they’d been, unable to get rid of the feeling from before, when he’d been poised above Rosa and unable to give her life. He keeps hearing Isobel’s voice in his head, telling them that they should _go_ and he knows she didn’t mean it like that, but now that it’s in his head that way, he can’t shake it.

They make their decision together in the early hours of the morning, when their clothes still smell of sick and the dust of the cave. Isobel isn’t saying a word, Michael’s staring at his broken hand, and Max is thinking about the feeling he had in the cave. 

“We should go to UNM with Michael,” Max says suddenly. 

Max doesn’t know what happened in that cave, but whether it had been Isobel who killed Rosa or not, one thing’s for sure – sticking around Roswell seems like the worst idea in the world. Isobel and Michael turn on him, staring with disbelief. They’re sitting in the back of Michael’s truck in the desert, a few miles from the cave, and Max isn’t sure they can go back to town just yet.

He's not sure he wants to go back, not when this idea seems so much better.

“What the fuck?”

“Max, we can’t leave!”

“That’s exactly what we _have_ to do,” he argues, and he looks to Michael, canting his head to one side, pleading for him to side with him. If Isobel had been blacking out, if she’d done this in a fugue state, then aren’t they making this worse by sticking around? Maybe it’s safer for them to go somewhere new. “We’ll be together,” he insists. “We’ll live in the same house.” To cut off Michael’s impending argument, he gives him a sharp look. “The pods are already sealed off, and we’re the only ones who know about them.” No one’s found them in the last ten years, why should they worry now?

He needs this, he thinks. He needs to get out of this town. 

Max needs to feel like he can control something. 

“Max,” Isobel whispers, sounding so unsure. “Mom and Dad are here…”

“All of our _stuff_ ,” Michael heatedly argues and Max knows he doesn’t mean _earthly_ possessions. He’s crying and Max doesn’t think that Michael even realizes it. His gaze slides to his hand and he reaches over for it, desperate to be helpful tonight. “Max,” he warns. 

“Let me heal it, Michael.”

“No,” Michael sobs, a howling, empty sound. “You can’t. People would know.”

Max doesn’t ask which people. It doesn’t matter. “Then I’ll heal it when we get to UNM, where no one knows us.”

They’re both staring at him with disbelief, as if they think he’s been possessed. Sure, they’re aliens, but Max thinks that even that’s a bit far to go. It’s hard to explain to them, and he’s not entirely sure he knows how, but he thinks about Rosa’s body lying in that cave with an alien’s handprint on her face, and he thinks that he knows what he wants to do.

“I _want_ us to go,” he says, trying to shift the conversation.

“Max,” Isobel says, her voice broken. “What about Michael? He killed those girls.”

Max sees the way Michael flinches, knowing that lie is going to burn him. Maybe if they go to UNM together, it won’t be the thing that defines Michael’s life. 

“I couldn’t heal Rosa,” he says, and it hits him again how Liz is going to feel when she finds out. The girl he’s in love with is going to have her life ruined, and Max couldn’t do anything about it. “I never, not ever, want to feel that helpless again.” His powers have always been a daunting thing that he’s never understood, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe he couldn’t heal her because he’s always shunned them and tucked them away into a dark corner of the mind. “I know that we can’t bring her back, but maybe the next time there’s a girl who shouldn’t have died, maybe I can do something.”

Maybe he should be more like Michael, accept this part of himself.

“I think I want to go to med school,” he admits. “And I want you both to come with me.”

Michael’s the one who has the full ride. This had already been his plan. Yet, it looks like he’s also the one who needs the most convincing. Max can already feel through his connection to Isobel that she’s with him. No matter what they do, she’ll be at his side. Max thinks it’ll be good for her to get away from Roswell.

Michael, though, looks shaky and uncertain, like there’s something here that’s anchoring him to Roswell, which is crazy, because Max can’t think of anything or anyone who could make Michael feel like that.

“We need to get away from here,” Max says, and if he’s certain of anything, it’s that. “Michael, you know that. Somewhere we can be together, far away from here. Give us a new chance, let us have the fresh start you were about to have,” he coaxes. “Don’t throw your future away, Michael. Maybe just let us come with you.”

They make their decision in the middle of the desert. 

Max knows that maybe he’s the one who pressed a little harder than he should, but he knows that staying in Roswell is a mistake. 

“Okay.”

Michael doesn’t sound so sure about it, but he’s agreeing. He nods, glancing to Isobel and holding out his good hand, hiding the broken one beneath his hoodie as best as he can. 

“Isobel?” Max prompts, when she looks warily at Michael’s trembling hand, then up to Max.

“I guess we’re going to UNM.” 

Three for three. It’s not how Max thought they’d end tonight, but given everything that’s happened, he knows it could have gone so much worse.

* * *

Within weeks, Max understands that enrolling in pre-med is the best decision he’s ever made. 

His powers have always been something that scared him. In order to be human and normal, to be the son his parents wanted, he’d had to shun the alien side of him. As a result, his powers had always been something like a demon that hid in his closet, lurking and scaring him when he least expects it.

Of course, coming to UNM that fateful night had brought with it a few unfortunate downsides. 

Coming to UNM meant that he’d needed to end things with Liz more abruptly than he wanted to. He’d called her after they settled in so that he could apologize for not being there to go with her on her trip. They’d wound up talking for hours and she told him about Rosa running away from home -- something Max _absolutely_ shuts down when he hears, not wanting to lie to Liz -- and then she tells him about the ocean.

“It made me feel whole,” she’d told him, and Max knew in that moment that leaving Roswell and Liz meant that he’d never be whole.

There would never be a first kiss by the ocean for them, other than the ones Max dreams about.

His chance with Liz wouldn’t have lasted very long, though, because she hadn’t stayed in Roswell. As soon as the summer was over, Liz left town too, and as much as Max had been hoping she might enroll at UNM, she decided to head in another direction, though she promised that she’d call. 

That promise fades away within a few semesters. He guesses that she’s busy wherever she is, or maybe she’s trying to leave Roswell behind, but eventually the calls taper off until they stop coming, and Max doesn’t have it in him to go chasing after her and ask why. Luckily for Max, the timing coincides with medical school starting to get tougher. He might have a knack for healing, but studying isn’t quite on the same level (even with Michael helping tutor him through the hardest subjects).

He’s not sure he’d remember to even call Liz, because some days, he barely remembers his own name. Once he works past his heartbreak of the one that got away, he’s able to see medical school for the blessing it is. He’s finally feeling _useful_ in ways that he never had been, before. 

UNM turns out to be good for Isobel, too. For a while, she seems like her usual self. She has moments where she doesn’t seem to be there, but gone is his sister who acts so unlike herself. It takes a month, but eventually Max convinces her to get a therapist to talk through the issues, and while they can’t talk about the way they’d killed the drifter, she can still talk about the fear, the helplessness, and how that had felt like a pivotal point in her life.

She comes home from one of her sessions and calls Max and Michael to dinner. “I want to take undergrad law,” she tells them. “I want to be someone who can put men like that away. I want to make amends for what we did.” Her gaze slides to Michael, who doesn’t even flinch, and she keeps going. “I get what you meant,” she tells Max. “I want to stop feeling powerless.”

“I think that’s a great idea, Iz,” Max shares.

“You know we’re there for you, every step,” Michael agrees.

They raise their glasses to Isobel that night, and over the course of the next few years, Max gets to watch his sister flourish. Therapy really seems to help and she stops having blackouts. Max finally stops feeling like he needs to constantly be on alert and at her side.

He lets her have her own life again, trusting that she’s well enough to do it without a guardian at her back. 

Michael’s a completely different story, at least for the first little while.

For the first few months, he’d gone through life numb. He refused to let Max near his hand and his moods were _awful_ , to the point that Max had been ready to suggest that Isobel drag him to therapy too. 

Then, something had changed. Max has no idea _what_ , but all of a sudden Michael’s out most nights and he’s happy again, the way he hasn’t been since before that night with Rosa and the girls. In their little townhome, Michael has the basement apartment, and Max keeps track of when he hears the separate door opening in the early hours of the morning.

It’s the only evidence they ever get that Michael has company, other than the occasional double-up of dishes in the sink. 

It's like he’s a different person from that point forward. He’s at the top of his class and finishes his undergrad in two years, gliding through his masters while he picks his topic for his PhD. 

“Get this,” he shares one night, as he’s poring over the courses he needs to get his degree. “One of the final classes? Spaceship design,” he quips. “You think I can manage?”

“I think maybe you’ll be fine,” Max deadpans, rolling his eyes at Michael. “Please don’t go back to Roswell to bring the remaining pieces of our crashed ship in as your project.”

“No promises,” Michael retorts. 

He’s _happy_ , whether it’s his classes that are doing it or whatever casual relationships he’s in at the moment (because Max never meets anyone, so he assumes it’s not serious). It makes Max feel a kind of relief that illuminates how worried he’d been over Michael. When he’d taken the blame for those girls, Max felt like they’d narrowly come close to Michael spiralling down a dark path, all to protect Isobel.

Instead, things are _good_. 

It’s true that Max misses Roswell and thinks a lot about things that he never got to have (mainly, Liz and the kiss by the ocean he still dreams of), but he knows that he’s made the right choice. 

Medical school, when he gets into it, teaches him that his powers aren’t an enemy. They’re his ally. Even his ability to destroy is something that can wield power applied properly. As one class shows him, sometimes you have to break the bone fully if you want it to heal properly again. Healing, though, is a complete revelation.

The classes teach him how to heal in a way that Max had never considered before. He learns about the bones and the blood vessels, understands how the body operates, and the more he understands, the better he is at healing. It’s during the first week that he comes home from a unit on the bones of the hand and corners Michael.

“I need the practice,” he begs.

Michael looks as unsure as ever, cradling his hand to his stomach. Every time Max has offered, he’s denied it, but this is different. This isn’t just Max wanting to fix things, now, it’s him understanding how to repair it and not make himself sick in the process. “Max,” he says warily.

“Who’s going to know, Michael?” Max demands. “We’ve been out of Roswell for four years now, if we ever go back, we’ll tell people you got reconstructive surgery.”

Michael opens his mouth and Max’s frustration reaches a boiling point.

“You don’t deserve to walk around with this injury. Michael, you don’t have to. Let me heal it.”

It's taken four years for them to get here, but finally Michael relents with a nod. He holds out his hand to Max, which makes him realize that now that he’s offered, he actually has to do it. The nerves hit him like a sledgehammer.

“Oh, come on,” Michael protests. “That face isn’t inspiring confidence.”

“What! I’m nervous! I’ve never done this before.”

“Do _not_ make me regret agreeing to this,” Michael warns, withdrawing his hand.

Max is stronger and just quick enough that he reaches out quickly and pulls Michael’s hand back into his own, rubbing his thumb over the scarring and the mangled tendons. They’d wrapped it up the first night they got to Albuquerque, but even with their attempts to fix it, they hadn’t been able to do too much.

Now, Max is getting his chance.

It's a complicated break, Max can tell that much. Even without his powers, he would’ve known, but they’ve allowed years to go by without anyone taking a look at it. Max isn’t really surprised that the hand is in such bad shape, but it makes it more of a challenge for him to heal. 

He starts with the tendons, then moves on to the muscles. Once all the internal injuries have been dealt with, Max thinks about the superficial. He removes the twisted shape, the scarring, and when he eases back, it’s as if Michael’s hand had never been mangled. He knows that Michael will need to wear something until they come up with a story about how he had surgery to correct it, but that seems like such a small ask, compared to the injury Michael’s been dealing with for so long.

Max feels the bloom of pride and victory in him, waiting for the sickness to slam into him. It comes, but not in a debilitating way, which gives him hope that he’s learning how to manage the use of his powers and that with careful use, using them won’t knock him back the way it used to. 

He watches Michael stretch out his fingers, staring at them with awe and reverence. 

“How’d it happen, anyway?” Max asks, wondering if today’s the day he’ll get the real story.

“Oh, you know,” Michael says, his voice rough with emotion even though he’s trying so hard to sound casual, “Chupacabra.”

Max gives him his best unimpressed look. Okay, so maybe Michael doesn’t want to talk about that, but it’s okay. Max has other questions that he’s been wanting to ask. It’s been four years since they came here, but there’s something that he wonders every day. Every time Michael drops in to help him with his homework or helps with Isobel when she gets sick from trying to master her powers.

“Why’d you do it?”

“What, run into a Chupacabra? I had a thing for goats and…”

“Michael,” Max cuts him off, not wanting the sarcasm and the jokes. “Why did you lie to Isobel and tell her that you did it? Why’d you bring your hand into it?” The real question he wants to ask is why Michael had been so ready to blow up his future, because Max has this awful fear in the back of his mind that if they hadn’t all come to UNM, then none of them would’ve gone. 

It scares him to think that Michael could throw everything away so quickly.

“It’s Isobel. I’d have done the same for you,” he says quietly. “You didn’t have to heal me.”

“Yeah, Michael, I did,” Max says, and even though he waits for the nausea to come, it doesn’t. 

When he’d healed him, he had thought about reshaping the bones and muscles and tendons like he was doing surgery. He had healed in precise little increments, focusing, and it hadn’t taken anything out of him or filled him with that feeling of poison like it normally did. 

Maybe he’s learning after all. 

“You want to grab a drink tonight, maybe celebrate?” he asks hopefully, and means both Michael’s returned use of his hand and Max’s success.

Michael gives an apologetic look. “Can’t. I have a date,” he says and wiggles his fingers, giving Max a manic-grin. “And thanks to you, I’ve got five new reasons to want to go out.”

“One day, you’re gonna tell me how it really happened.”

Max wishes that he had any idea or suspicions, but he genuinely doesn’t. Until Michael decides he's ready to share, it’s going to remain a mystery, and fight is the best guess that he’s got.

“Maybe.”

If ‘maybe’ is the best he’s going to get, then Max will have to learn to live with it.

* * *

After a long shift at the hospital, Max wants nothing more than to come home and put on some trashy television show that means he doesn’t have to _think_. It’s been a hard shift, and he’d ended it by telling a set of parents that their son had a rare form of cancer. He knows that he could go in and heal it, but it’s all over his body and while Max has been getting stronger, he’s not _that_ powerful.

He’s going to have to leave this one to regular medicine.

It makes him think about his own parents. Is that how they’d felt, watching him and Isobel as kids? Traumatized by some unseen monster, unable to talk, trying to beg any of the doctors to help?

Max finds the remote and collapses on the couch next to Michael, who’s halfway through a bag of chips, grateful that Michael only gives a half-hearted protest when Max switches it from Blue Planet to whatever Real Housewives drama is happening.

“Today was that bad, huh?”

Max grunts, because he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

He ends up falling asleep on the couch, too exhausted to move. Michael must have draped a blanket over him, because he wakes up covered in the thickest blanket in the house. Max adjusts the pillows and decides to spend the night there. 

He dreams of his childhood, of the group home, and of his parents. In his dreams, his mother is reaching out to him, coaxing him into her arms, trying to get him to speak. 

When he wakes up, the first thing he feels isn’t nostalgia or homesickness. It’s _guilt_.

Isobel talks to their parents on a near daily basis. The therapist had recommended reopening the old lines of communication, which had been awkward at first, but Isobel had always been closer with their parents. Max had always been the one who felt like they needed to keep distance, as though their parents would figure out what they were with too much talk. Even now, he assumes that Isobel can fill them in about what’s going on, and Max doesn’t have to call.

Until his latest case, it hadn’t really worn on him much.

“Mom misses you,” Isobel says one day, after she hangs up from another hour-long phone call.

In the basement, Max hears conversation – two men, one of them Michael – and he wonders if he can somehow escape down there with whatever one-night stand Michael’s brought home this time. “I’ll call her.”

“You keep saying that, but she says you haven’t called her since you started your residency.”

Flustered, Max feels like that can’t be true. “That’s not…”

“I stole your cell phone,” Isobel keeps saying. 

“Aren’t you in law school? That’s illegal, Iz.”

She dismisses it with a wave. “She was right,” she retorts. “You haven’t talked to Mom since your residency. Before you even try and tell me that you’re busy, I also know that you spent most of last week with your book club talking about some dusty old author.” She tips her head to the side. “Are you avoiding them?”

Max says nothing, because he feels a lot of weird and complicated emotions about their parents. He knows that Ann and Phil Evans are immensely proud of their accomplishments at UNM, but Max feels like a failure for leaving town, even though that’s what kids are supposed to do.

“Call her,” Isobel says sharply.

Max wishes that he could dismiss Isobel and make a promise that he doesn’t keep, but he knows that if he doesn’t call their mother, it’ll only get worse. Isobel doesn’t use her powers too often, but she has no qualms about using them to get inside Max’s head and get what she wants. After all, that’s how she got Max and Michael to give in to her male stripper birthday idea last year. Even with her influence, it had still made Max extremely uncomfortable. Weirdly, Michael had seemed really uncomfortable too, and given that he’d come out as bisexual to them within their first year at UNM, that one made less sense.

So, yeah, if he doesn’t do this, it’ll end up happening with a lot more embarrassment on Max’s end. 

That doesn’t mean it’s going to go well.

“Hey Mom,” Max says, when he finally picks up the phone and calls.

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, Max thinks that she’s hung up, but there’s still the crackle of static. “Max Evans?” The way she sounds means that he’s definitely in trouble. “You know, I’d say it was my son, but he hasn’t called me in so long that I’m not sure I recognize his voice.”

“Mom,” he pleads, voice subdued.

“I’m allowed to guilt trip you when you don’t call. I talk to Isobel all the time, but you’re too busy for us.” She sounds hurt, and that makes Max hurt, too. 

He's always kept a little bit of distance between him and their parents, as if he’s afraid that the moment they get too close or help too much, they’ll find out all the secrets he’s been burrowing. UNM has been the perfect excuse to get away from that fear, but maybe he’s gone too far the other direction.

They’re paying for him to be here, after all, and they’re so proud.

“I’m sorry,” is what he says, instead of trying to defend his choices. “I know I haven’t called enough and Isobel’s made it plenty clear that I’ve been kind of shitty for it.”

“It’s okay,” his Mom promises. “Tell us everything that’s been happening, and that makes up for it.”

“School’s been going really well,” he starts, and tells his mother about his residency.

For all that Max has spent so long trying to put distance between him and their parents so they never found out that anything is different about them, this is the most normal call he thinks he’s ever had with them. Even though he’s leaning more into his alien powers to help him through medical school, his Mom only wants to know about the work and if there are any _girls_.

“Mom,” he protests.

“What! Your sister has told me flat out that she’s focusing on having fun and we shouldn’t expect anything from her for a while. You’re my hope for grandchildren right now, my little romantic.”

“I’m not little,” he complains, sounding like a child more than ever.

“Does that mean there’s someone?”

“No, Mom, there’s not.”

He knows that it’s ridiculous to be carrying a torch for someone he hasn’t seen in years, not to mention that after what happened to Rosa, Max thinks there’s no chance for him and Liz, but it’s still stopped him from feeling like he has any connection to other women. He’s not celibate. He’s gone on dates, he’s even brought a couple of them home, but they all sort of tapered off after the third date.

They’re just not what he’s looking for.

“Besides, my internship is coming up, and I’m going to be working crazy hours,” Max points out. “It’s probably better if I focus on that for a while.”

“Yes, of course, you’re right.”

Max knows that the trick to dealing with his mother is to appeal to her socialite sensibilities. Max Evans getting engaged sounds good, but Dr. Max Evans as a successful doctor has a lot of clout in her bridge group, too. He knows that it’s not going to put her off forever, but he only needs it off her mind for the next little while.

“I won’t close myself off to new opportunities,” he adds, like he needs to give her some reassurances.

“Make sure you send a nice picture of you in your lab coat, so your father and I can update the wall,” she insists. 

“Mom,” Max protests.

“We’re so proud of you, honey.” She sounds overwhelmed by it. “We always knew you’d be such a success, but you’re out there saving lives! I just hope that one day, we’ll get to see you a little more often.”

He knows where this is going, but he stays quiet, not feeling strong enough to cut her off. 

“We miss you,” she says quietly. “We were happy that you decided to go off and chase down your dreams, and when Isobel told us that you were becoming a doctor and she was going to law school, we were so proud, but you don’t even visit.”

Roswell is a town of bad memories, and Max isn’t so sure that he’s ready to face them, but lately, it hasn’t seemed too bad. If anything, the town’s started to seem a little more promising through his rose-colored rear-view mirror. 

It’s been over eight years since they left. Max suspects that’s the only reason why he’s feeling nostalgic, and why his mother’s guilt trip is actually working slightly.

“There’s a job at the hospital here, the girls in my bridge club were talking about it.”

Max has never really considered going back to Roswell, but he’s coming up to his internship and he needs to find a place to do it. Albuquerque’s out of the question because they’re experiencing a shortage of jobs, which means he’d be fighting for one of only a few positions and he hasn’t got seniority. 

No matter what step he takes next, it won’t be here. 

Max has been trying to avoid that reality, but it’s becoming harder to do as his exams loom. He’s stressed out to the point the power in their townhome flickers all the time, not just because of his worry over the exams, but because of what’s going to happen next.

“Even if you don’t do anything else, please let me give your name to Dr. Anderson,” she pleads. “You two can have a conversation and if it goes nowhere, you’ll have networked.” She’s using the tone that says that Max had better listen to his mother, because she knows better than him. “If you end up going to Timbuktu, we’ll still be happy for you, but…” 

“I’ll talk to Dr. Anderson, okay?” 

He hears the breath of relief over the line. “Oh, good! That’s amazing! I was just telling Isobel that the firm here in town is hiring, too, so once she’s passed her bar, you should both come and visit. We’d love to see you both again, and maybe you could both take a few interviews while you’re here.”

They talk for a while about what’s new in her life, from Roswell’s best gossip to boring news like the local grocery store carrying almond milk now. Even though they’ve moved on to banalities, Max can’t shake the earlier conversation from his mind.

Even after he hangs up, he doesn’t move for a while. He sits there, phone pressed to his chest, letting the conversation replay in his head, like he's trying to figure out how he feels about it. 

Roswell. 

It doesn’t have to be forever, but if there’s a job for him and Isobel there, it might be worth considering. Of course he’d have to make sure that Michael will go with them, and seeing as Michael had been so resistant to coming to UNM in the first place all those years ago, it tracks that maybe he’d be okay with going back home. 

Maybe moving forward this time around means going back home.

Even if it’s not the one they were born in, it’s where they came from, and where they first decided who they were going to be. There’s something about that, and Max feels like his resistance to Roswell is completely eroding, leaving him with the glimmer of possibility.

Dr. Evans, respect member of the Roswell medical community. It’s not a bad idea, and if he happens to run into Liz Ortecho when he goes back, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

It's time for him to think about going home. It’s time for them to move forward.


	2. Free to Decide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max tries to convince Isobel and Michael to join him in Roswell. The potential move back to Roswell creates an obstacle in Michael’s current relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Again, thanks endlessly to [Crystal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/islndgurl777/pseuds/islndgurl777) and [Tove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_gilliath/pseuds/el_gilliath) who whip this thing into shape.
> 
> 2\. I feel like it's important for people to know that Max Evans has hair that looks [like this](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1091b4d86ea1984797ef1e305513ac28/tumblr_mhrrf5KTBR1qhtzooo1_250.gifv) from about this chapter forward.
> 
> 3\. The title of this story is a lyric from a Strumbellas song, [We All Need Someone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQAVAcA2fEk) and I highly recommend that others listen, so I'm not the only one who has it in their head

It comes as no surprise to Max that Isobel aced her bar exam.

The three of them have gone out for dinner to celebrate her big accomplishment. There’s so much joy and pride coming from Isobel that Max can feel it all through the connection, which leaves him feeling like he’s on his own emotional high. She’s even brought the letter with her scores with her, which sits on the table like a fourth guest.

Reconciling this Isobel sitting in front of him with the one in the desert nine years ago (scattered, scared, confused) is an almost impossible thing, but in the very best of ways.

“Who would’ve thought?” Michael jokes as he grabs his phone back from the people who’d taken a photo with the three of them together, Isobel holding up her results like a proud mother. “Dr. Evans, the respected doctor of medicine, Dr. Guerin, the wildly successful professor of engineering, and Isobel Evans, high powered badass lawyer. Maybe we are going to take over the world,” he jokes. 

“Michael,” Max warns, because even though it’s a joke, the last thing he wants to quip about is their alien natures and all the stereotypes around what people expect them to do.

“Oh, come on, you have to admit, none of us would’ve anticipated this back in that cave.”

Considering it’s a day of joy and celebration, Max feels awful, even with Isobel pumping delight through their bond. He’s been putting off telling his siblings the news, but he knows he can’t stall much longer. Considering the moving truck is booked and will be there soon, he’s got a finite amount of time before that breaks the news for him.

The years since they’ve left Roswell have been genuinely _good_. They’ve been in a protective bubble as they’ve grown up, where the past can’t reach them, charting out new paths for their futures and ignoring what nearly ruined their lives in the cave that night. That protective bubble is liable to burst, though, because Max’s opportunity lies back at home and he really can’t imagine a future where he doesn’t take advantage of the job. 

He waits until they bring the drinks before he decides to dive in. “So, I have some news too,” he says, trying to drum up the courage to go on. He looks at Isobel, then Michael, and feels like the tumultuous furrow lines on his brow are preparing them for the worst. Better dive in fast before they think it’s all bad. “I got a job offer.”

They were definitely expecting something bad, because he can visibly see Michael exhale in relief and the way Isobel’s shoulders relax. 

Isobel shifts from worry to joy in a hurry, reaching over to squeeze Max’s shoulder. “That’s amazing news! Is it emergency medicine, like you’ve been hoping for?” 

Ever since he started his residency, he’s learned that there’s one thing that fulfills him more than anything. He takes care not to do it that often, but when there’s someone that looks impossible to heal through human methods, Max uses his powers to bring them back. Isobel comes in to make sure they don’t remember it, they wait for the handprint to fade, and as easy as that, he’s saved a life. Being in emergency medicine means that he gets the chance to save plenty of lives without anyone knowing the full damage. 

He’s never told Isobel how it makes him feel, worried that she’d make him stop if he did. It’s an exhilarating rush that lifts him up and fulfills him in ways he’s never experienced before. It almost feels like he’s a god, though he’s always brought rapidly back to earth when the healing is done and the hangover follows. The post-healing blur used to last for days, but with practice, he’s been able to make that dark, heavy, poisonous feeling turn into hours. 

Max knows, though, that he can’t turn it into a habit -- both for the way it makes him feel and the attention it would draw. He’s developed rules about it. He’s only allowed to do it a few times a year, but lately, he’s been breaking his own rules. 

He can’t help it. He’d rather take the risk than let someone die, when they don’t have to.

“Yeah, it’s emergency medicine, just like I wanted,” Max agrees, and it’s all going so well. He hates knowing that it’s about to come crashing down.

“So where’s Dr. Evans gonna be the hot new intern?” Michael asks as he sips his beer, casually sprawling back in the booth. “And are they gonna make you cut this mess?” he teases, tweaking Max’s chin-length hair. He’d stopped cutting it about a year ago, both because it took too much work to maintain and because he kind of likes the approving looks he gets from girls.

He rolls his eyes, swatting at Michael’s hand. “You’re one to talk,” he points out, because Michael hasn’t cut his curls in at least a few months.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s on the schedule,” he protests, beaming away as he withdraws his hand. “I just didn’t know if I should buy you the flower crown now or later with the internship. Which is...where?”

Max takes this moment to look at them, knowing that they’re both so happy here. He wishes that he could have found a way to stay, but he’s been trying to get a promotion at the hospital for two years and hasn’t been able to. If he wants to move up the ladder, he knows it won’t be in this city. He also knows that given Isobel’s persuasive talents (even before she uses her powers) and Michael’s genius, they won’t have any trouble finding a job anywhere else, even in the town that Max hopes to go back to. 

“I know it took a while, but the job offer finally came in. The thing is, it’s in Roswell,” he admits. 

He’s not sure what he expected, but this awful silence isn’t it. 

“What?” Michael is the first to speak, his voice breaking.

Max hadn’t expected either of them to be happy, but the way they’re looking at him is kind of unexpected. It’s not like he took a knife and twisted it in their hearts, but from the way they’re gaping at him, you’d think Max hurt them physically.

“I want to move back to Roswell,” Max says. “And I want you both to come with me.” 

Ever since he started talking to his mother again, he’s been reminded that he has family somewhere else, too. There’s a stubborn part of him that knows that what they did had essentially been running away from home and he doesn’t want that to be the way they’re remembered. It might not be permanent, but Max also knows that of all the internship job offers he’s received, he doesn't want any other. He doesn’t want to move to Michigan or Minnesota, not when he could go home.

“I checked into jobs for both of you,” he rambles, and he knows this is giving away how long he’s been thinking about it, but he doesn’t care, “and there’s a law firm in town hiring, Iz. Michael, I know it’s not UNM, but you could teach at the school and…”

Michael knocks back his beer, slamming the empty bottle on the table. He says nothing as he gets up, storming for the front door after he drops a bouquet of flowers and a card in front of Isobel.

“Michael!” Isobel shouts after him.

He doesn’t turn around or even slow down in his hasty exit. Isobel whirls on Max, nostrils flaring as she tries to control her breathing. 

“Seriously, Max? You couldn’t wait to drop this bombshell on us _any other night_ ,” she hisses, her face blotchy. Max knows it’s how she gets when she’s about to tear into him, either on the cusp of tears or rage. 

This time, he suspects it’s both.

“Isobel…”

“I’m coming with you,” she snaps, and throws her napkin on the table. “I’m going to get Michael and make sure that he is, too.” She’s after him in a hurry, shouting Michael’s name frantically. It leaves Max at the table alone, awkwardly pouring wine into their glasses. 

It’s probably a good thing he didn’t order champagne. He can only imagine how this would’ve gone if they were even tipsier.

He dismisses the waiter every time he comes back around to take his order, hoping that Isobel and Michael will be back soon enough. While he waits, he nervously tears apart the bread on the table until it’s more crumb than bread, trying not to drink the whole bottle of wine by himself. If they do come back, he still wants to be in his right mind.

“More bread?” the passing waiter asks warily, glancing at the mess Max has made with the basket.

“….yeah, probably,” he admits.

He’s sipping at his wine when he sees the front door open, Michael storming back in and Isobel in his wake. When they get back to the table, Isobel slides in beside Max and instantly reaches for her wine, but Michael’s standing, like he needs to have some kind of dominance in the situation. 

“You shouldn’t get to just dictate what we do,” Michael spits out at him, clearly burning with a resentment that Max doesn’t understand – at least, not fully. It’s true that Michael is happy here, but he could still teach some kind of course, and the second doctorate he’s pursuing doesn’t require him to be _here_. Truthfully, Max had thought Michael would be happy to go back.

Their unearthly possessions are still there, after all.

Wherever they came from and whatever they are, if there are answers, it will be in Roswell.

“I don’t get why you’re so pissed,” Max says bluntly. “It was hell convincing you to leave, now you’re acting like I’d be shooting you in the head to make you go back!”

“Because we have lives here!” Michael shouts at him, breathing out shakily, his face contorted with rage and pain. “I made a life for myself at UNM, I found a place that didn’t care what I used to be,” he says, weakly. “We have a home…”

“Michael,” Max says quietly. “You don’t have to come with me. I don’t even know how long I’ll be there, but I just know that you’re my family and it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

It would suck, it really would, but they’re family. Even if Michael was a continent away, Max would be okay with that, but it’s not his preference. He just doesn’t understand why this is so dire for him, but as much as it would pain Max, they could take different paths if that’s what it came down to.

Michael shakes his head. “No,” is his miserable response. “You don’t get it. I do have to come with,” he says, reaching for his glass of wine. “You said it. You’re my family,” he says, “and you made sure that I got to come to UNM instead of throwing my life away.” He swallows hard, averting his gaze from Isobel’s, as if he’s worried she’ll see through the lie this time.

She never has, and Max has begun to think she never will.

“And you’re right,” he adds. “We’ve spent all these years ignoring Roswell, and all of our things are back there. Maybe it’s time for me to take the veil off my eyes and try and figure out where we came from, why we came here in the first place, and if there’s still a place to go back to.”

Max can’t quantify the immense relief he feels that Michael and Isobel are going to be with him. 

“Thank you,” he breathes out, not sure they understand how much it means to him that they’re not abandoning him to do this on his own. He raises his glass. “Iz, I’m sorry I took the spotlight off you. We should be celebrating your amazing accomplishment.” 

He doesn’t feel guilty about bringing it up, though.

As much as Isobel looks speculative and Michael looks pained, Max is relieved to have finally gotten it off his chest. He leans back to order another round of drinks from the waiter, eyeing Michael with mild concern when he asks for whiskey on top of the orders of wine, but he doesn’t say anything. 

After all, he did drop a bombshell on them. 

It doesn’t take much to nudge them back to talking about Isobel’s amazing accomplishment. Max is so proud, and even Michael rouses himself to cheer her on, though it takes a lot more booze than Max is comfortable with, and at one point in the evening, a flask is unearthed with a distinctly acetone-like smell. Max feels an instant edge of guilt, because Michael usually turns it down whenever Max offers, heavily depending on it after he heals his patients. For the most part, Michael hasn’t really touched the stuff since Max healed his hand, and yet, tonight, the news is so bad that the flask is out.

Isobel’s yet to give her real opinion on the move, which means she’s holding it back, afraid to say it in front of one of them. Max hopes that she’ll share, in time.

By the end of the evening, Michael’s too loud, too sharp, and even his joy feels angry. Max pays the bill, then offers to give Michael a ride home (seeing as he stopped drinking during the main course), but he waves him off.

“I got somewhere to be and I need the air,” he says bitterly. “When’s the moving truck coming?”

“Next Saturday,” Max says, frowning in concern as he watches Michael start to wander off into the night, like he intends to walk wherever he’s going. He’s about to go after him when he feels Isobel’s hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Iz…”

“Let him go and process,” she advises. “He said he’s coming with us, and you know Michael. He probably just needs to burn through some anger and he’ll be fine.”

She still hasn’t said anything about how she feels, and Max feels belatedly guilty for not asking. “What about you?”

Isobel threads her arm in with Max’s, wandering towards his car as she thinks about her answer. She’s always so cautious, so careful, like she wants to project the exact right image. “I miss Mom and Dad. It’d be nice to get a job where I can see her more often,” she admits. “...I’m a little scared, though.”

“Scared?”

“I haven’t had a blackout since the first year I started therapy. What happens if we go back and they start again?” she says quietly. “We’re going back to a lot of bad memories for all of us, not just Michael’s. I don’t want to lose all the ground I’ve gained, but at the same time, I know that I’m not the same girl I was.”

“If you ever feel like it’s too much, Iz…”

“I know,” she cuts him off, squeezing his elbow. “You’re there for me. Roswell could be a completely different place. Besides, now I’m a lawyer and I bet there’s a shiny new office with my name on it,” she brags. “Not to mention, I’m sure there’s at least one therapist in Roswell who’d be happy to take on a new patient.”

He stops at the Jeep, giving Isobel a fond smile. “Thank you,” he says. “I can’t even imagine how much courage it takes, going back there.”

“Me?” She gives him a pointed look, sliding into the passenger seat. “You just asked Michael to go back to where he murdered three girls. And you’re wondering why he’s so upset.”

She closes the door behind her, but Max spends a moment to collect himself before getting in after her. That lie has grown roots over the last nine years, to the point that Max wonders if they’ll ever be able to tell Isobel the truth. 

They’ll have to face it at some point, and that day looms closer than ever with their return to Roswell approaching. He gets in the car so they can drive home, worried about Michael, relieved that Isobel’s okay with this, and quietly excited to be going back. 

Home is wherever Isobel and Michael are, but there’s something about Roswell that’s always felt like it’s beckoning him back. 

Maybe it’s unfinished business. Maybe it’s unresolved feelings. 

Whatever it is, he’s ready to figure it out, get that closure, and be able to move on with his life. 

That night, Max tosses and turns in bed. He can’t sleep and he’s sure that it’s a combination of his anticipation of the laundry list of tasks they need to do before they move, combined with nerves about the impending new job. Come two in the morning, Max abandons all thoughts of sleeping and instead decides to sneak out to the balcony with his cell phone.

He’s got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, as winter starts to roll through New Mexico, the brisk November days leading to cooler nights. Isobel’s light is still on, but there hasn’t been any movement from Michael’s part of the townhome.

Honestly, Max kind of doubts he’s there. 

Hopefully whatever bar or whoever’s bed he ends up in will help to soothe some of the pain he’s feeling when it comes to returning to Roswell.

Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Max stares at his phone before he turns his gaze skywards to the stars, wondering what it would have been like if he’d gone on that road trip with Liz. Would they have parked their car and stargazed together in every state they traveled through? Would they have laid out blankets on beaches and kissed under the full moon?

Isobel always gives him shit for being a hopeless romantic, but sometimes Max wonders if it’s just Liz that he gets so messed up about.

It’s not like he’s been going around wining and dining on a regular basis in Albuquerque, but for Liz, he thinks he’d put out a twelve-course dinner. Even now, even after she’d stopped texting and calling. 

With Roswell on his mind, Max does something really stupid.

He dials the last known phone number that Liz gave him. It’s way too early in the morning to be calling her, especially when they haven’t spoken in years. Who knows if the number even belongs to her anymore?

That answer comes swiftly when he gets a voicemail inbox, and he hears her voice for the first time in years. 

“You know what to do! Leave a message!”

He breathes in to steady himself for this.

“Hey Liz. It’s Max.”

It feels strangely like he’s doing something wrong by calling her, even if it’s just leaving a message. It’s not like they’re even friends these days, but it’s important for Max to tell her where he’s going, on the off chance that maybe she’ll decide that she wants to swing down for a visit.

“I know how fast gossip spreads, so I wanted to let you know that I’m going back to Roswell to work at the hospital as an intern, before you hear it from someone else.” He can’t help his proud smile, feeling so damned accomplished. “I passed my exams, and they gave me a job, so me and Isobel and Michael are all going back.” 

His gaze slides to the moon and he thinks of the desert outside Roswell where they danced and even though it’s November, he feels the sun on his skin, warming him. 

“Anyway, I know you haven’t been back in a while, but I figured that if you’re ever back in Roswell, you could look me up? I’d really love to see you again. It’s been too long. No one’s even thought to give me dancing lessons, since I last saw you,” he jokes. “I wouldn’t mind a teacher.”

_Idiot_ , he accuses himself, pressing the phone to his forehead, telling himself to wrap it up.

“We haven’t even looked at houses yet, but my number isn't changing, so, call me? I mean, if you’re around, or visiting or…” 

This is going swiftly downhill. 

“Maybe someday, we could dance again and have another Little Green Man shake, and now I’m that weirdo clogging up your voicemail. I hope you’re okay, I hope you’re doing well, and I miss you.” 

Once he finishes, the automated voice asks if he’d like to try his message again.

Max looks up at the moon in the sky, the stars around it, and maybe it’s the early hour and his lack of sleep, maybe it’s because no one’s here to tell him otherwise, but Max lets the message exist as it is. 

If Liz wants to call him back and get in touch, she will. Until then, Max has got a hell of a lot to get done and not much time, so with one last look at the stars, he turns in for the night, thoughts of Roswell filling his head, and Liz’s warm smile beckoning him towards his dreams.

* * *

The dresser’s knobs are digging into Michael’s back as he leans back into them, keeping him attentive of what he has to do, like the pain is a reminder that tonight’s not going to be easy, but it has to be done.

He _has_ to do this, he knows he has to, but that’s not making this any easier. The talk with Max and Isobel had been clear. Max is taking the job back in Roswell and where he goes, Isobel follows. 

That’s left Michael with a horrible decision to make. 

The truth is that he’d made it in seconds and he only feels guilty that he hadn’t consulted with his partner before making it. Worse, he already knows that this is going to go over badly. After all, how else do you tell your partner that you’ve decided to move away without having a conversation?

_Fuck_.

Michael flexes his hand, almost wishing that it were still damaged. If it was, then he could use it as a reminder that all good things lead to bad, instead of what he has now -- the reminder erased as part of Max’s _homework_ , a fresh start symbolized by the healing.

So instead, he has the knobs of a dresser and a sinking sensation in his stomach to remind him that hope is a dangerous thing and it always ends badly.

“Babe, what’s going on?”

Michael opens his eyes to bring himself back into the moment. He feels _sick_ and he’s not sure that even that’s enough to make him change his mind. No matter how bad it is for him, Michael’s going back to Roswell. If you’d told him that eight years ago, he would have sobbed and laughed, then maybe punched you for the suggestion. 

“It’s Max,” Michael hears himself saying out loud. 

It’s always easier to blame these things on Max. Even though this is Michael’s decision in the end, he wants to pin it on someone else. 

Deep breath in. 

“He got a job in Roswell,” he says, and hasn’t exhaled yet, rushing through the words. “He’s taking it and Isobel is going with him. _We’re_ going with him.” His face falls as he says it, hating this, because he knows he doesn’t get to keep both. And then, he exhales, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. He doesn’t get to have a relationship and go back with his family to Roswell, because that’s not how this works. 

The problem is that even though he’s so deeply in love, he’s still going to pick his family, no matter what it costs him. It feels like that day in the desert when he’d found Isobel standing over those girls. 

To protect his family and keep them safe, he’d do anything – even destroy the one thing that’s kept him going for the last eight years.

“Oh,” says Alex Manes, who’s perched on the edge of the bed looking like Michael’s dumped ice water over him. 

How could he not look like that?

Eight years ago, they’d vowed to never set foot in Roswell again. They’d escaped. They’d found a new place to live. Now, Michael’s going back and he fears with all his heart that he already knows what happens next. 

And all he can do is give a fatalistic laugh, a quiet, “Yeah,” as he moves to sit beside Alex on the bed, staring at the dresser where they keep all their clothes and the bedroom wall of their little apartment, adorned with their attempts at decorating. From here, he stares at the photos of the two of them and their happy lives, because it’s better than looking at Alex. 

It feels like he’s back in the shed, because no day between them in the last eight years has been as bad as that day. Not until now. He stares at his healed hand, then back to Alex. 

There haven’t been secrets between them for years. Hopefully, that’s not about to change now and Alex will tell him how he really feels about this. 

“Are you coming with me?” Michael asks hopefully, feeling seventeen again. 

He’s not a dignified professor of engineering at a prestigious school. He’s not a mature twenty-six-year-old who has his PhD. He’s a scared little boy who isn’t sure what’s about to happen next and he can hear it in how small his voice sounds. He stares at Alex pleadingly, his fears turning desperate and ramping up with every additional moment passed in silence.

Michael turns and presses his lips to Alex’s shoulder.

Alex doesn’t answer, not even when Michael asks a second time, quietly pleading with him, “Alex, are you going to come back to Roswell with me?” 

Still, nothing. Alex looks shellshocked, his eyes blurring with tears. Michael doesn’t ask a third time. 

He already knows the answer.

Instead, he wraps his arms around Alex’s waist and bears him into the bed as he wraps himself around Alex, holding on like a limpet and breathing out shakily for every inhalation he takes in. He buries his face in Alex’s neck, hoping that Alex will say _something_ , but nothing comes. So Michael holds on tightly, because he’s afraid of what’s going to happen if he lets go.

He can’t help feeling like there’s a finality about the night, as if it’s going to somehow be the _last_ night they’ll have together like this for a very long time. 

Worst of all, every moment that goes by without Alex saying a word only supports Michael’s worst fears. And all he can do is hold on tight and cherish what he can get, so that’s what Michael plans to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is coming to you next Thursday. As always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://andrea-lyn.tumblr.com/).


	3. This Used To Be My Playground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isobel meets a handsome (yet slightly off-putting) new coworker, Max and Deputy Valenti reach a truce, and Michael’s keeping secrets from the pod squad.

The first sight Max sees on their way back into Roswell is the alien spaceship on the sign that welcomes them home. It’s weird, but after eight years away, he actually thinks he misses it. Isobel gives him an encouraging smile from the passenger seat, her excitement (and likely, her nerves) visible. “I can’t believe we’re back,” she says.

“I can’t believe this place is still standing,” Michael complains from the back seat of the moving truck, where he’s lying on his back with his cowboy hat over his face.

When Max had picked him up that morning along with all of Michael’s things, he was hungover and almost looked like he’d been crying. Max had tried to ask if he was okay, but instead of answering, he’d shoved all his suitcases and possessions into the back of the trailer and climbed in without a word. Whatever’s going on with him, Max has to hope that Michael will be willing to talk about it after they settle in.

“It doesn’t look like it’s changed,” Max observes, leaning forward as he drives through downtown. He takes them around to the hospital to see where he’ll be working, then the high school for Michael, finishing with Isobel’s new law office to drop her off.

The town may not have changed, but they have.

Him a doctor, Isobel a lawyer, and Michael a professor. Considering the turmoil through their teenage years, Max can barely believe where they’ve landed. 

“I’ve got lunch plans with Mom, but I’ve got some time before that,” Max says. He usually wouldn’t talk about Ann Evans with Michael in the car, but seeing as he’s doing his best to turn into a lump, Max doesn’t think he’ll mind. “Are you sure you don’t want to go by the house first and drop some things off?” he asks her. 

“No, this is perfect,” Isobel says, checking her watch and then her reflection in the mirror. “I’ve got an interview and if you’re not early, you’re already late.” She leans over to press a kiss to Max’s cheek, reaching back to smack Michael in the chest, earning a yowl, before she climbs out of the car. “Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” they chorus together, Max’s enthusiasm and Michael’s grudging concession. 

She grabs her briefcase and turns, striding confidently inside Roswell’s most prominent law offices. 

When Isobel is out of sight, Max turns his attention to Michael. He glances in the rear-view mirror to see if Michael’s budged, but apart from the fact that there’s now a flask on his chest, he hasn’t moved. 

“Hey,” he says, sharply. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Michael mutters. “I’m back in Roswell. Isn’t that enough to be depressed about?” 

“Is it about the girls? Maybe it’s time we told Isobel the truth, Michael,” Max says, not wanting him to have to bear that burden longer than he has to. He doesn’t turn the engine to start the car, because he doesn’t want to move until he figures out why Michael’s in such a state. He sees Michael pop up in the rear-view mirror, curls wild, and anger in his expression. 

“No,” he says firmly.

“Michael…”

“Why the hell would I ruin her life!” he shouts at him. 

“Because why should she get to ruin yours?” Max counters. “You said it, man. Isobel was the one who did it to those girls.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t _her_ , Max! You didn’t see her, I did. It was like she looked right through me, like I wasn’t even there.”

This is an argument they’ve had plenty of times, and regrettably, Max doesn’t see this time ending any differently. “Fine,” he allows, because it’s better than trying to argue with Michael about this. Isobel’s the lawyer, not Max, and running headfirst into a brick wall is what arguing with Michael on this topic feels like.

“Where am I dropping you off?”

“Wild Pony,” Michael mumbles, sliding his hat back over his face as he lies back down. 

Max opens his mouth to comment about the time of day, but decides he’ll talk to Michael about this tomorrow, or the next day. He deserves to have one day to grieve losing their home in Albuquerque, but if Michael thinks he’s getting away with the alcoholic routine tomorrow, he’ll have another thing coming. 

At least Max knows that Michael’s job at the school starts in a few weeks, so he’ll have that to distract him, even if high school classes are basically kindergarten for a man of Michael’s intellect. 

They drive in silence to the Wild Pony. Once they arrive, Michael gets out, trudging towards the door where Maria DeLuca is waiting for him, cutting off any potential attempt for Max to say something. He stares at them in confusion, not sure what’s going on there, but Maria pulls him into a hug and Max is pretty sure he hears her saying she’s sorry, then asking if he’s doing okay. 

Michael shakes his head, imperceptibly, and looks like he’s about to answer when he looks back and catches Max still sitting there in the moving truck. Michael goes quiet, then, nodding inside. 

Whatever is going on with Michael, at least Maria seems to have some idea about what’s really happening. Max knows he should feel left out, but he’s just glad that Michael’s got someone to help him out. He can keep his secret for now, but eventually, Max will figure it out. 

That’s what brothers are for, right? 

It’s his right to worry about Michael, and he intends to capitalize on that.

* * *

It's not a surprise when Isobel gets the job offer only a few hours after she turns up for her interview. She’d been impeccably dressed, intently eager, and appeared effortless thanks to her preparation. She’d negotiated herself a raise, then brought home a bottle of champagne to the house that she and Max will be sharing.

They’d asked Michael to stay with them, but he’d declined the offer, choosing to rent an apartment downtown instead.

That had led to a particularly catty night with Isobel, who’d graciously agreed to Michael’s desires to his face, only to complain about him for the rest of the night to Max and his abandoning them the moment they get back to Roswell. And yet, to Michael’s face, she remains the ever-supportive sister, while Max rolls his eyes behind her back (though, he’s pretty sure Michael sees right past the act).

“What step is this in the plan for you to take over the world?” Max asks, after she’s showed off the bottle of champagne and shared her news.

She smiles knowingly, shrugging like it’s a casual plan that she isn’t trying her best to keep to. “We’re only in the early stages. I still need to find myself a handsome man willing to do anything I want,” she boasts. 

Not that Roswell has an abundance, but Isobel is still holding out hope.

“Are you doing okay?” Max asks her, looking weird and suspicious. “I know this place can be a bit much, in terms of reminders…”

Only Max could turn what happened with the drifter and the girls into something so subtly said as ‘reminders’, but the truth is that therapy has been a godsend to Isobel, and while she couldn’t talk about what happened with the girls, she’d been able to talk about the attack from the drifter and the blackouts.

She understands it hadn’t been her fault, that there’s nothing they could have done, and that acting in self-defence isn’t something to feel guilty over -- ten years in therapy will help to undo a lot of the toxic patterns you’ve developed for yourself, as she’s learned.

Isobel grabs some glasses, shooting him a disbelieving look. “It’s been almost ten years and I have a therapist that I talk to about this.”

Max holds up his hands like he’s surrendering, willingly giving himself up before he can go any further down the rabbit hole, where there are traps and shadows waiting in the dark. “I didn’t realize I couldn’t be concerned for you.”

“Concerned, yes,” she says, holding out the glasses so Max can pour. “My keeper? No.”

Max bows his head, like he’s sheepishly trying to avoid pissing her off. 

It’s only that she feels bad that she gives him a break. “That said,” she says, because she does want to talk to Max. “I’m fine. Whatever was causing those blackouts seems to have stopped, so I feel better. I feel more in control of myself.” She sips her champagne, arching a brow, impressed by the quality.

Even for Roswell, that’s tolerable.

“Besides, you’re right. It’s only one of the steps in my inevitable world takeover,” she brags, lifting her shoulder, enjoying being the center of attention. Sipping from her glass, she gestures to the third one, which Max didn’t pour into. “What? Michael isn’t joining us?”

“He said he’s busy.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s like UNM all over again,” she complains, sitting down so they can get to dinner. “The whole vanishing act for weeks on end before he turns up without any explanation, like we wouldn’t even miss him.” She’d always wondered _where_ he went, what he was doing.

More to the point, she’d always wondered who, because Michael never seemed to be off on his own. Loneliness had never been Michael Guerin’s problem, from the stories she heard on campus.

“He said he’ll come by tomorrow after your first day,” Max protests for him.

Big brother, always their keeper. 

“Whatever, he’s missing out on all the good champagne and the excellent take-out I ordered,” she says, and settles in with Max for dinner so they can talk about their jobs and settling back into Roswell. 

Even though it’d been his idea to come back to town, he seems weirdly nervous. When Isobel prods him about why, he clams up and avoids her gaze, like it’s all some big secret, which she doesn’t understand. Still, he lets her drink the bulk of the champagne and, for that, Isobel loves him.

Sure, she loves him for a whole lot of other reasons too, but that’s a big one right there.

The morning of her first day on the job, Isobel wakes up to find that Max has made breakfast and left a note that he’s off for a double shift at the hospital, wishing her luck on her first day. She spends the day tidying up the new house and decorating it to her liking (Max gets the bookshelves, but that’s it), calling Michael and getting no answer, and preparing herself for her first day.

She takes one last look at herself in the mirror – put together, dignified, in _control_ \-- and she’s off to the law firm to show Roswell that she’s ready to dominate this town.

Once there, Isobel discovers she has a corner office, a gorgeous cherry desk, and an extremely handsome new co-worker waiting for her inside it. 

“Welcome to the firm,” he says, reaching over to shake her hand. “I’m Noah Bracken.”

“I’ve heard,” she replies, because she’d done her research before coming back here. She hadn’t expected him to be so handsome, as his profile picture absolutely does not do him justice. Admittedly, most of her research had been done in order to find out who would be her competition for promotions, but a little eye-candy along the way doesn’t hurt.

“Do you want to go for a drink? I could give you more than just office gossip,” he offers, with a charming smile. 

“I’m really trying to get my feet under me,” she says, trying to politely put him off while she’s settling in. 

She’s about to open her mouth and suggest another time, but she doesn’t get the chance.

“Come on,” Noah says again, and there’s more desperation in his tone now. It’s not much, but Isobel’s seen enough men who are trying their hardest to get something they want, no matter the cost, and it registers on her radar. “This place can be stressful, what harm could one drink do?”

“Maybe another time,” she says, though the possibility of that happening fades away rapidly, all from the way Noah’s too-stressed, too-wary, and too-suspicious for her. 

Something isn’t right there.

For now, she dismisses it as another jerk who needs to get laid and pushes himself on women with the overly nice guy routine, making a note to ask around town about Noah Bracken and what the gossip is on him. If nothing else, Mom will know something.

The rest of the day flies by with ease. She’s trotted around the office and makes new allies, new friends, and begins to delve into new relationships with those around her.

Isobel doesn’t turn to her powers the whole day, choosing instead to use boring old human gut instinct, which does the trick. If she needs more of an assist later, she can always go into some minds and pull out what she needs to, but she’s proud of herself for not needing to do that on day one and sussing everyone out, for the most part. 

Other than, of course, the strange itch she has at the back of her neck every time she catches sight of Noah and feels like she ought to know him from somewhere. 

That familiarity is odd, given that Isobel is confident they’ve never met before today. 

It’s something she brings up at dinner. 

“I met someone at work today,” Isobel says, stirring the pasta sauce. 

Michael glances up from the table where he’s writing lesson plans. They’re in his apartment because Isobel had grabbed Max and dragged him over to see where he’s living. Unsurprisingly, the boxes were still stacked up, which is why Max is moving around, unpacking things, while Isobel and Michael cook.

“Oh?” he teases, with a smirk. “And has he already succumbed to your wiles?”

She rolls her eyes. “We’re not all hounds like you after one thing.”

Michael presses a hand over his heart. “Isobel,” he protests, holding up two fingers. “Bisexual, remember? There are _two_ things that I’m after,” he finishes, giving her a brazen grin. 

He thinks he can shock her, after all this time, but he’s absolutely mistaken, because Isobel is so inured to Michael that he couldn’t shock her if he tried. “It wasn’t like that,” she says, stirring the sauce, watching as Michael drifts closer, hopping up on the counter to sit beside her, popping pieces of bread into his mouth.

“What was it like?”

She shakes her head, trying to figure out how to describe it. “Déjà vu? But with a person,” she says. “It’s like I knew him, as if we’d met before and were friends or close somehow, but I’ve never heard the name in my life and I’d remember him. He’s pretty easy on the eyes,” Isobel confesses. “He just gave me this feeling, this awful feeling, like something about him was off.”

Michael digs out his phone from his back pocket. “Name?”

“Noah Bracken.”

Michael grunts his acknowledgment, bending over his phone as he searches for him. Isobel leans over when it looks like he’s found a Facebook profile of Noah, looking radiant and eager, running marathons, helping out at charities, and accepting awards.

“Yeah,” Michael deadpans. “He’s a real monster.”

“I’m telling you, Michael, something’s not right,” Isobel insists, and she knows that she’s not wrong. 

Michael checks his phone one last time and types out a few messages, but after a few more attempts without a text back, his face falls. He puts it away and faces Isobel, shrugging. “Go into his head,” he says, like it’s the easiest solution on the table. “Find out if he’s hiding a secret family or some dark and sexy kink for women’s underthings.”

It would be the easiest thing, but it’s been a while since she’s _had_ to, and she’s just starting her new job.

“What if it’s something creepy, but not a fireable offense,” she complains. “Then I’ll have to sit there knowing Noah Bracken likes to wear a furry outfit on the weekends, because it’s not like I can convince him to leave for that.”

“Not unless he’s got big dreams of becoming a mascot,” Michael deadpans. 

“How’s Roswell High, speaking of mascots?” she asks, opening the cupboards to find groceries (and she’s shocked because she never thought of Michael as someone who bought oregano and chili flakes). 

Michael shrugs listlessly. “I’m going to be preventing freshmen from blowing shit up. There used to be a time I was the one trying to figure out how to get away with that.” She’s not sure she’s expecting the resigned look on his face, even if it’s not a surprise that this is how he’s coping with his fate here in Roswell. She still remembers that day at the restaurant, chasing after him. 

He’d been in such a panic, pacing and texting someone frantically on his phone, insisting that he didn’t think he could do it, but then minutes later, something had changed. Michael had looked at Isobel and for some reason, he’d changed his mind about Roswell within a matter of moments.

She has no clue why he’s here, given that he seems miserable to be back.

“Any cute teachers you’ve got your eye on?”

Michael looks miserable to be teased like that, and she’d keep prodding, but the sauce is bubbling over the edge of the pot and onto the burner. “You put it on high,” he accuses, even if he’s got that weird guilty look on his face, like he did something.

“I did not,” she hisses back at him. “You did something to it.” 

Michael gives her an innocent face as he pulls the pasta to drain it while she tries to salvage his stovetop. Maybe she should bank hard in the opposite direction and let everything burn like crazy so that he’ll abandon this sad apartment loner lifestyle and come live with them. 

She’s so distracted with the sauce, she forgets that she’d asked him about whether he’s getting together with any of the other teachers on staff, accepting the oven mitts so she can bring the sauce to the table, with Michael carrying the rest behind her. 

“Max!” Isobel calls. “Dinner’s ready!”

“What are you gonna do about the creepy coworker thing?” Michael asks, digging out beers from the fridge for him and Max, white wine for Isobel. 

Isobel wrinkles her nose as she thinks about it. At the end of the day, Noah’s a man the same as any other man that she’s run into. Why should he have any special foothold in her head, just because she got a weird vibe off of him?

Setting down the chili flakes, she yanks off her apron and drapes it over Michael’s shoulder. “For now, I’m going to hold off,” she says decisively. “If things get stranger, I’ll go into his head,” she says, watching as Max returns from the bedroom, covered in dust. “Problems?”

“When’s the last time you even read some of those books?” Max protests. 

“Fuck knows, they were in storage,” Michael snorts. “I got time on my hands now,” he says, even if he sounds somewhat resigned about it. “I figured if I’m ever gonna get around to reading them, now’s the time.” 

Isobel stares at him, wondering what she’s missing, but she doesn’t get a chance to ask.

Michael slams his barriers into place so she can’t access his head and as soon as he does, proclaims, “Let’s eat!” so she doesn’t get a chance to ask any questions, either. 

She narrows her eyes and waves a spoon in his face. “This isn’t over,” she warns.

“What’s not over?” is Max’s clueless reply. 

“Isobel’s criticism of my cooking,” Michael interrupts before she can say anything, reaching over the table and smacking her wrist before she can grab the block of parmesan first, squabbling like children who grew up eating meals together instead of the fractured family they are. “C’mon, prove her wrong, Max, do it for me,” he encourages.

Max brushes the last remaining dust from his hair, looks at Isobel and then Michael, but says nothing. Clearly, he’s willing to let this slide, too. Isobel knows it’s only a matter of time before she gets to the bottom of it.

Let Michael keep his secrets for now. 

He won’t get to hold onto them forever.

* * *

“Dr. Evans.”

Now that’s a voice that Max hadn’t been expecting to hear, not in a million years.

Max turns to see Kyle Valenti approaching him, wearing a deputy’s uniform. Max puts down one of the boxes he’s carrying, shaking his head. He’s never liked the guy; while he knows it’s for selfish reasons, Michael’s been really good over the years of vindictively fuelling Max’s grudge by hating Valenti alongside him. It means that even the sight of him now brings up a long-standing bitterness.

Max has lost count of how many evenings he and Michael had spent drinking beers and bitching about their high school’s douchebag quarterback. 

“So, you took up the family business?” Max notes, with a nod to the uniform. 

Valenti traded one uniform for another, and this one unnerves Max even more. There’s little to be afraid of, with a football player, but a deputy could cause real trouble. It means that he’d better play nice.

“Scholarship fell apart when I busted my knee in the first season. I came home to recuperate and started helping out with my Dad’s cases. He was kind of obsessed with finding Rosa Ortecho after she went missing and let a teenager help, even though that probably wasn’t protocol.”

Max hopes like hell the expression on his face stays steady, but Valenti’s not even looking at him as he keeps talking, so it looks like he’s dodged that bullet.

“It turned out that I actually liked the work, so I stuck around,” Valenti admits. “You’re a doctor, huh? I always figured I’d do med school, once my football career was over.”

“I am,” Max confirms, unable to help his proud smile. The small talk is fine and all, but the visit is a bit weird, which Max is hoping to get to the bottom of quickly. “You here for something?”

“I thought maybe I’d swing around, welcome you back to town,” Valenti says. “And, possibly, maybe, bury the hatchet?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Max says, lying his ass off.

“Come on, Evans, I know you used to loathe me because you were in love with Liz.”

He’s not wrong. 

Maybe Max should work to mend things with Valenti. If he’s a deputy, that means he has access to the police records, and it would be good to have someone on his side with access to those, in case things go south while they’re in town. He’s paid attention to news alerts out of Roswell to see if there’s anything about three murdered girls, but nothing has ever come up. Maybe if he gets on Valenti’s good side, he can find out if that’s what _everyone_ thinks. 

“I’m not with her anymore,” Valenti says. “Look, why don’t we get a drink, catch up, and you can decide if you want to hate me after. Fair?”

Max isn’t sure why Valenti is so adamant about calling a truce, but if he’s the law in town these days, Max should be careful not to piss him off. 

Max puts down the moving box and consents with a nod, feeling like he’s fallen into a bizarro world.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Let’s get a drink.”

They take separate cars, but it doesn’t take long for them to agree to the Wild Pony as a neutral drinking ground. 

The sight of them walking in together must be shocking, because Maria does a double-take, shaking her head like she’s got some choice comments she’d like to make, but then tucks them away. Max is willing to let her have the gossip, so long as she’s willing to provide them with the drinks.

“Dr. Evans,” Maria greets him as she approaches, slinging a bar towel over her shoulder as she lets her eyes roam over him, nodding with approval. “It’s good to see you again, when you’re not just driving by. Michael said you were too busy to stop by for a drink, but that still hurts a girl’s feelings.” She tips her head to the side, focused on Max’s biceps. “Liz is definitely missing out.”

He flushes at the implication and the mention of Liz, but he tries his best to power on through. “I’ll try and do better about coming to drink at Roswell’s finest establishment.”

“Really? If you figure out where it is, tell me,” she jokes, and brightens with a warm smile, reaching over to squeeze his hand when he flushes slightly at his seeming misstep. “What can I get you?” she asks, clearly delighted with how much she’s been able to unnerve him. 

“Two beers, please,” he requests. 

She fishes out a pair of beers, turning her attention to Valenti (who’s hovering behind him) and seems like she’s trying to size up the situation. “Now remember, boys,” Maria says, putting down the beers in front of them. “No fights in my bar.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, DeLuca,” Valenti promises, hand over his heart. He sets his white cowboy hat down on the bar beside the drinks. 

“Was Michael in today?” Max asks. “I haven’t seen him since we had dinner a few days ago.” He's also not responding to texts but he doesn’t need to tell Maria that.

“He just needs some time,” Maria advises. “He’ll come around.”

She sounds like she knows why Michael’s so upset. Why doesn’t Max know? Why does it make him feel so powerless and frustrated that he doesn’t? He’s Michael’s brother, he feels everything he feels, and that low-level grief coming from him lately is infuriating because Michael won’t _talk_ about it.

Max can see the way Maria’s eyeing them and while he doesn’t mind talking about Michael in front of her (seeing as she seems to already know most of it), he feels strange talking about whatever it is Valenti is so fidgety about in front of her. He picks up his beer and nods towards a table in the back, figuring that if they’re going to talk about this, better to have some privacy. Valenti follows, and they resettle away from the regulars and Maria’s eager ear for gossip.

“Is Guerin okay?” Valenti asks.

Max scoffs and shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You guys must be close,” Valenti continues, eyeing Max like there’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve.

“We lived together at UNM, since we all knew one another,” Max says with the practiced ease that comes from talking about this. “We kind of gelled like family, and he’s like a brother to me now.”

Valenti presses his lips together as he nods along with Max’s explanation, reaching for his beer and picking at the label. He’s clearly trying to work himself up to talking about something, but _what_ is the question. Until he does, Max plans to keep quiet, let Valenti do the work.

“Ever since graduation, things have been weird in this town,” Valenti finally speaks.

“Honestly? I’m kind of surprised to see you back,” Max admits, but given the fact that Valenti lost his scholarship, maybe it shouldn’t be so shocking.

“Yeah,” Valenti agrees, scoffing. “I was there for all of a semester before the bad tackle busted my knee. I had a choice to stay up in Michigan and figure something out or move back home. Like I said, Dad liked having the help, and he liked having me following in his footsteps. He was my mentor, at least, up until he passed.”

“I heard,” Max says quietly, given that news like that travels fast, even when Max had been trying to ignore Roswell. “Cancer?”

“Fastest moving cancer that anyone’s ever seen, but yeah,” Valenti confirms. “Cancer.” 

“Sorry, man. Your Dad seemed like a good guy.” Max didn’t really know Jim Valenti, but he always seemed to care about the town’s well-being, and even seemed to keep an eye out for him and Isobel. He’d always figured, growing up, that it had to do with who his parents were and the influence they had in town. 

Valenti clears his throat, nodding. “Thanks.”

Nothing follows that awkward word. 

The silence draws out while they sip their beer, and then, Max decides he can’t take much more of this. Better to face whatever’s happening head on. 

“What do you really want to talk about, Valenti?”

Valenti’s relief is palpable from his expression, looking grateful that Max had finally brought it up.

“You, Isobel, and Michael left and then we found out that three girls from town went missing.” Max steels himself for an accusation, but Valenti looks lost, not livid. “I was hoping maybe you guys gave Rosa a ride out of town on your way to Albuquerque or something, maybe saw Kate or Jasmine. I’ve dried up every other lead I’ve ever pursued.”

“Sorry, man,” Max lies with practiced ease. “It was just me, Isobel, and Michael when we left town with our things.” It’s easy to lie like this when there are hints of the truth. He just has to ignore the memory of the bodies in that cave. “Wish I could give you more of a lead. What do you think happened?”

“I’ve only got guesses,” Valenti admits, still picking at his beer’s label.

Max wishes he had Isobel here. He wants the complete reassurance that Valenti is as clueless as he’s admitting to, though it’s not like Valenti was a super spy or great at secrets, so maybe they’re okay. 

“Best money on Rosa is that she ran. They found bus tickets in her room, like she kept buying them to work up the courage. I keep trying to ask if Liz where she’d go, but every time I brought it up, she’d shut down. She doesn’t want to talk about Rosa, keeps insisting she’s out there, just…gone. Arturo is more of a pessimist. I think he thinks she overdosed somewhere. It’s Kate and Jasmine I can’t figure out,” he admits. “And the Longs never let us forget about it.”

Max presses his lips together, thinking of the other odious group of assholes from high school, though in the case of Long and his buddies, they tended to make Liz’s life a living hell. The vitriol he has for them always seems to strangely echo Michael’s hate of Valenti, which Max thinks has something to do with the way Michael had looked at Alex Manes through high school. 

He wonders where Alex has gotten to. 

He also doubts Valenti is the one to ask on that front. 

“And there’s no leads?”

Valenti shakes his head. “I mean, there’s a few that we can’t prove. We had those drifters coming through town around that time, so the working theory is that they were out partying in the desert and ran into the wrong person.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe one day they’ll turn up safe and sound, maybe they’ll…”

He trails off when his radio squawks with a code-504, asking any unit in the area to respond.

“Car tampering,” Valenti explains, leaning over to press a button on his radio. “It’s Kyle, I’m at the Pony, that’s just around the corner. I’ll go see what’s going on.” Even from here, Max thinks he can hear the car alarm going off. 

He’s on his feet, pushing the mostly-untouched beer towards him.

“Welcome back to Roswell,” Valenti says sardonically, tipping his hat to Maria on his way out, leaving Max with the relief that he doesn’t have to worry about being arrested. Unfortunately, it also comes with a healthy helping of worry, because the case isn’t fully closed and as long as the Longs are on it, it won’t be.

With Valenti gone, Max sits there with his beer, debating between trying to call Michael again or maybe Isobel (but she’s already yelled at him for calling during work hours, so that’s out). “Everything okay?” Maria asks, wiping down the table where Valenti had left a few droplets in his haste to go. 

“Yeah,” Max agrees, but he doesn’t sound sure. “Hey, what happened with Jim Valenti?”

“It’s such a sad story,” Maria says, her face falling. “They found a tumor in his brain and he was gone in a week,” she says, shaking her head. “My mother kept saying that he’d been _touched_.” She scoffs. “Some gibberish about a handprint marking him for death, like a demon got to him or something.”

Max feels something icy creep down his back, but Maria doesn’t seem to notice. 

“You want another beer?” she asks. 

“I should get back to the boxes,” he says, feeling oddly numb. “I only took a few days off before I’m back to the hospital. I shouldn’t waste any time.” He digs out money to pay for the drinks, glancing at Maria. “Hey Maria, what about Alex Manes? Where is he these days?”

She gives him a puzzled look. 

“You don’t know?”

He shakes his head. “Did he follow in his Dad’s footsteps or something? I was thinking it might be nice to see him again.” If Michael’s in such a dark mood, it might also be nice to cheer him up by bringing him around to see an old crush.

“More in the ‘or something’ category,” she says. “You’re seriously telling me that you don’t know where Alex ended up.”

Max feels like he’s missing something. It’s not like Michael or Isobel ever brought him up in conversation and sure, he knows that Maria and Liz were really tight with him, but the most Max got from Liz near the end of his internship had been a letter or two. 

He preferred spending the time in those letters talking to her, not about a mutual friend.

“It’s not a big deal, just thought maybe Michael might like to see a familiar face,” Max admits.

Maria gives him a fond smile. “That’s very sweet,” she says, squeezing his shoulder. “I think he would,” she agrees. “Unfortunately, Alex isn’t in town.” She sounds so sad about it, but Max gets it. In a town filled with assholes, it sucks not having decent people around. “I’ll tell him, next time I talk to him, that you miss him,” she teases.

“Not me, it’s…” It’s too late. She walks away before he can protest, leaving Max to his thoughts about this whole Valenti situation and how he should play it. 

Maybe playing nice with Valenti is the right play, since Max would love to make sure he’s one of the first to hear any updates in the case when it comes to Rosa, Kate, and Jasmine. He doubts that he’ll be the first phone call, but having an ally in the sheriff’s department couldn’t hurt. Beyond that, Max’s personal issues with Valenti don’t seem to _exist_ anymore.

Valenti’s not dating Liz, and even though it sounds like they’ve had some communication, that doesn’t mean they’re cozying up to one another. It also helps that Valenti doesn’t seem like a complete asshole these days. 

Maybe ten years of distance is all he’d needed and Max is ready to play nice.

Or maybe he’s just willing to do anything when it comes to protecting Isobel and Michael. If Jim died from a handprint, then he needs to make sure that it isn’t because at Isobel’s hands. It doesn’t make any sense, but Max doesn’t have enough details to rule anything out just yet. Three missing girls is bad enough to worry about in their past – a dead former sheriff might shine a spotlight on them. On the other hand, what proof does he really have? Mimi DeLuca, who’s rumored to be losing her mind, making a stray comment about handprints?

Still, if somehow Isobel is responsible for this one, he’s not sure they’ll get away with skipping town and leaving it behind them, this time. If she’s _not_ the guilty culprit and Mimi isn’t crazy, then does that mean they aren’t the only aliens in Roswell these days?

_Shit_.

That’s not a revelation he’d been expecting to have, and on a day when Deputy Kyle Valenti came out of the woodwork to make amends, it’s impressive that it’s the most shocking thing he’s coping with today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last time, CarlaDuquette made the amazing suggestion that I start to tease out the next week, and I love that, so without further ado, every chapter will now have a teaser at the bottom for next week:
>
>> _“Does she know?”_
>> 
>> _It’s like the fucking devil whispering in his ear. Michael jumps slightly, stepping away from where Jesse has leaned in to fill his head up like the insidious snake he is. “Does she know what?” he challenges, because he doesn’t know what Jesse is referring to._


	4. All That She Wants

When Isobel had been in law school, she’d dreamed of high-profile cases, her picture in the papers, her Elle Woods moment.

As of today, she’s still dreaming.

“Evans, new one for you,” the managing partner hands her a file. “The client will be here to meet you in a few days. Bankruptcy,” he explains with the apologetic smile of a man who knows how boring bankruptcy cases are. “They want you to help with the paperwork. Client’s in the lobby, you just need to get her information today. Forms are in the file.” 

It’s so far removed from the flashy cases that she’d been hoping for, but it’s not like Roswell is full of hope for anything like a media-frenzied murder trial. Two years, she tells herself. She hasn’t told Max yet, but she’d set a timer that after two years, she’d look into moving back to Albuquerque to establish her own practice, prosecuting the kinds of people that deserved justice. 

She’s pretty sure Michael will come with her, and between the two of them, they can convince Max that a move back is the prudent thing. She misses city life, a place that has a palpable pulse, somewhere that feels like it has a _future_.

Roswell is stacked with nothing but a miserable past, and one that she’s trying to avoid. She makes a mental note to book a therapy session before she steps out into the waiting room to greet her client, glad that for now, she’s got a distraction – even if it happens to be boring.

“Miss Cortez,” she greets. “I’m Isobel Evans.”

“I know who you are, you’re Ann’s girl,” Elena Cortez says, her eyes soft and kind. “It’s why I asked for you.”

Isobel doesn’t find that strange. If nothing else, she’s the only female at the firm at this moment who isn’t a paralegal (which is also a reason why she needs to get out of here in a few years so she doesn’t get broken down by an ever-approaching glass ceiling). Smiling, she gestures into her office.

“This shouldn’t take long at all, I just need you to fill out some forms while I get some notes on your situation.”

Elena grasps at her purse, fingers flexing. Her manicure is chipped and broken, her nails bitten to the quick, and her skin is pale. She looks like she hasn’t been sleeping. She follows Isobel into her office, anxiously adjusting in her seat as Isobel spreads the paperwork out on her desk.

“I understand that you need to file for bankruptcy,” Isobel says, trying to be gentle.

“Yes.” Elena clutches at her purse again, hauling it close to her chest like a ward. “Yes, we didn’t want to, but when my sister went missing and then died, having the funeral on top of losing her pushed us over the edge.” Her lower lip shakes, and she sniffs as she murmurs, ‘thank you’ when Isobel holds out a box of tissues. “I’m sorry, I know this happened a year ago, but it still doesn’t feel resolved.”

She’s a lawyer, not a counselor, and even if she were, Isobel’s not exactly winning any prizes for empathy. When a woman in front of her is breaking down, Isobel’s not exactly rushing to comfort her with soft words and hugs.

Still, she spends an hour in therapy every other week. She can fake it so she doesn’t offend a client.

“What happened to her?” Isobel asks gently. “If you want to talk about it. You can tell me to screw off, if you don’t.”

“No,” Elena sniffs. “No, it’s okay. It’s been a year. I need to start to talk about it sometime.” 

She inhales steadily and shakily, like she’s preparing herself.

“Yasmin, she had hard times,” Elena admits. “She was always welcome to work at the salon, but I had a policy that if she was using, she couldn’t. I thought, maybe, it would keep her clean. It didn’t work. Last year, she was found dead from an overdose, in the alley near the Wild Pony.” Elena’s lower lip wobbles and she reaches for two more tissues as a sob catches in her throat. “Every other time, she came back to us. She’d get clean. We just thought that it would happen again, but it wasn’t.” 

Isobel doesn’t need to fake sympathy to feel sorry for the Cortez family and what she knows becomes of them. She still asks, to give Elena a chance to talk about it. “What happened after that?”

“We stopped taking as many clients in the days after, to deal,” Elena admits. “Business went down a little when people heard that one of our girls was found with a needle in her arm. My sister deserves more respect,” she says fiercely. “It was a difficult time, but the funeral was what really pushed us over the edge and made people talk,” Elena says, her voice soft. “They wouldn’t let us have her body,” she sobs. “The _government_ , they took her. They said we couldn’t have her back because she’d been contaminated by her drugs.”

Isobel pauses in her notes, looking at her curiously. 

She doesn’t usually do this, but the strangeness of the case gets the better of her. Setting the notepad on the table, she cautiously enters into Elena’s mindspace, descending into her mindscape where she controls everything.

In here, she’ll get the answers she needs to understand why the government would be so interested in a drug overdose death and what Elena is keeping from her. 

“Why did the government take your sister’s body?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Elena says, sounding distant.

“Why do you think they did?”

“It’s Roswell. It’s not the first time I’ve heard about the government taking people. Maybe it’s a conspiracy. Maybe it’s a cover up.” And then, with full conviction, because Elena can’t lie to Isobel in here, she says, “Maybe it’s aliens. Maybe my sister wasn’t a junkie. Maybe they wanted to make it look like that because she knew too much.”

Slowly, a prickle of alarm seizes Isobel. She’s sitting too straight, she’s too frozen, she’s not saying enough, even though they’re still in her mind. She gives herself permission to calm. She still has control over Elena and she’s not fighting it. 

All she has are conspiracy theories. There are no facts, there’s no proof. She’s no different than Grant and his crazy theories. 

Releasing them from the mindspace, Isobel leans over to subtly spike her coffee with acetone, sipping at it to keep the nausea at bay. Luckily, she uses her powers enough thanks to Max’s job that she’s in decent practice, but it never hurts to have an emergency drink after. 

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Isobel expresses her sympathies, reaching out to take Elena’s hand, squeezing it with sympathy and keeping her palm covering hers, holding on and keeping the connection strong, in case she needs to return to it. “I’d like for you to come see me in a week.” At Elena’s confused look, Isobel continues. “Today was just information gathering. Over the next week, we’ll finish up the paperwork and officially file.” She hands over the sheath of prepared papers for Elena. “Please fill these out and bring them back. The receptionist will help you book a new appointment.”

She’s buying time, hoping that it seems natural. 

Isobel needs a week, at least, to look into this and see if there’s any truth to Elena’s passionate beliefs. She knows that she’s not lying, but she could still be mistaken. Yasmin might have died exactly as it appeared, and maybe the government took over because she’d been on something designer and dangerous.

There are any number of possibilities she needs to look into before she panics.

In a week’s time, there’s a chance that Isobel will understand why Elena is so steadfastly convinced that aliens are somehow at fault for her sister’s death.

On her way out, Isobel hands Elena a few more tissues, bringing her to reception to make the appointment. On her way back, she notices Noah’s door is open, but Noah’s resolutely bowed over a book, fixated intently on whatever it is he’s reading. She dismisses the weirdness of him not even bothering to say hello and heads back to her office.

Once she’s safely within the privacy of her own office, she locks the door behind her and sits back in her chair with her cup of acetone-laced coffee, trying to figure out her next move.

There’s a yellow legal pad on the table in front of her, her coffee in one hand, and a pen in the other, which she taps against the pad in between scribbling notes on ideas, using a shorthand she developed to take notes, just in case.

No matter what she writes, it all comes down to needing to have two different sectors on her side – someone at the sheriff’s office and someone at the hospital if she’s going to get Yasmin’s records and see what’s going on.

With Max, she has one of the latter, but she needs one in the former camp. 

Pulling her keyboard towards her, she pulls up the roster for Chaves County, scrolling through a list of possible allies until she reaches a photo of a familiar face. Smiling like the cat who got the cream, Isobel has a good feeling that she’s got her in with the sheriff’s office too, now.

It just might take a little sniffing around before she can go in, guns blazing, because if she burns this bridge, she might have to try other people who aren’t as amenable to helping her out. At least, not without Isobel using her natural advantages and her superpowered brain to help her out. She’d much rather work with plain old Isobel Evans charm before she gets there. 

“Kyle Valenti is the Sheriff these days, right?” Isobel asks Max at dinner.

“Deputy,” he replies, sounding wary. She hopes he’s not still carrying a grudge because Kyle got to date Liz in high school. “He came by to be the welcome wagon, says he’s Deputy Valenti now.”

She rolls her eyes. _Men_. “Deputy, yeah, whatever.”

“Why?” Max asks warily.

“I think I might need someone from the department to take a look at a case I was assigned,” she says, rifling through a few files as they eat dinner. “Do you have his number?” she asks, but then thinks better of it. “Never mind, I’ll drop by the station,” she says instead, fixed on this case and the lingering questions she has about it. 

Instead of eating, she dives into the details of Elena Cortez’s case. At some point, Max grabs her plate to clean up when it’s clear that Isobel would rather go over her case notes than eat anything else. “Thanks,” she murmurs. “I’ll have it later.”

“Whatever this case is, don’t let it take over,” Max says. “And when you go lean on Valenti, remember to leave him in one piece, Iz,” Max warns.

She glances up, thoughtful and playful, and gives him a knowing smirk. “I wouldn’t dream of breaking that hot body in two,” she promises, and goes right back to making her notes, knowing that there’s more under this iceberg she’s discovered. 

Kyle’s going to be her in, she’s decided and not that he knows it yet, but he’ll give her everything she needs. 

If she gets to look at someone as objectively attractive as she does along the way, there’s no harm in that, as far as she’s concerned.

* * *

He's been in more pathetic situations in his life, but Michael’s pretty sure that leaving too-long messages on someone’s voicemail in the middle of the local supermarket is up there, when it comes to bottom of the barrel. 

“Alex, this is my _third_ phone call in as many days, would you please call me back to let me know you’re okay?” Michael ducks his head down, pacing as he fidgets with the chain around his neck. “I know that you said that it’s not safe until you can do your magic, I get it, and I know you have this tendency to go off the grid when you have a project, but…”

“Michael Guerin.”

He freezes, clutching the piece of alien ship on the end of the chain in his palm as he freezes.

That voice is the whole reason that Alex isn’t in Roswell. That _man_ is why Alex can’t be here. It’s the one in his nightmares before he wakes up screaming about a hammer, it’s the one Alex dreams about in every single miserable nightmare he has, every single bad night. Michael inhales raggedly and turns to stare down Jesse Manes, who’s holding a basket. 

He’s smiling at him like the sick son of a bitch he is, and suddenly, Michael’s healed hand hurts like crazy. He shifts it, pushing it inside his pocket so that Jesse can’t see, wishing he had a bandanna to wrap around it. 

It’s too clean, too neat. 

Even if he pretended that he had reconstructive surgery, Max did a damn good job healing it up and he doesn’t want to take the chance that Jesse clocks it for unearthly. 

“What, they still let assholes like you shop freely?”

Jesse doesn’t seem so amused by that, as if he’d expected more respect. No, Michael realizes. It’s not respect he’s after – it’s fear.

“I heard that you’re teaching at Roswell High now.”

Michael scoffs and shakes his head, wishing that Maria would come back from her jaunt to the other aisle. “Yeah, it turns out that they really like hiring a guy with two doctorates,” he agrees, willing to play Jesse’s game. “What, you think I’m gonna infect them? Teach them all that it’s okay to be who you are without having to worry about their Daddies beating the shit out of them?” he spits, the vitriol coming easily when he’s got the truth on his side.

“I know that my son was corrupted by you,” Jesse says evenly. 

Michael lets out a disbelieving scoffing sound. “Oh, please, he…”

“…and one day,” Jesse continues, “I’m going to show the rest of the town what you really are. We shouldn’t be letting things like you teach our impressionable youth. I know what you are, Guerin.”

Michael freezes up. 

_What_ , he said.

Not who, what.

He swallows hard, trying not to let the panic show on his face, because this is Jesse Manes. For all Michael knows, he’s accusing him of being less than human just because he likes guys, dehumanizing him the same way he did with his son. Michael shakes his head like he can clear his fear, suddenly beyond glad that Alex isn’t here to witness any of this. 

Alex deserves a better father. 

The grocery store isn’t a place to pick a fight and Michael isn’t the kid he was back in his teens. He’s let some of that anger burn off and these days, he’s less furious and more depressed, thinking about an apartment back in Albuquerque sitting untouched, without the love it deserves, because it’s half-empty. 

Lucky for him, he didn’t come here alone. 

“Hey, Guerin, I found the margarita mix that you demanded I get because you like this god awful flavor,” Maria says, blissfully unaware of what she’s walking into, only freezing when she looks up and sees the icy standoff she’s wandered into. It speeds her up as she hurries to his side, grabbing the basket from him. “Mr. Manes.” Maria says it sweetly, kindly, but Michael loves the way he flinches, when he’s not given his due respect with Maria ignoring his proper title.

It’s a small win, but he’ll take it.

“Maria,” he says. “I didn’t know you were Guerin’s friend.”

“Oh, you know. I keep the riff-raff at bay, it keeps the Pony running smoothly,” she replies, taking the basket fully from him. “Guerin, I’ll see you at the checkout. Soon?” She’s giving him a look that says she’s not going to leave without his permission, but she’s given him what he needs -- an excuse to escape and incentive to not just punch Jesse in the face.

He nods, mutely, and watches as Maria leaves him with a monster and a timetable to get out of there. It’s helped to calm the tension down slightly, but Michael still wants to snap Jesse’s neck and record the sound so that he can send it to Alex. 

True, they’d probably arrest him if he did, and he doubts that whatever government prison they’d stick him in would allow for conjugal visits, but it’s not like Alex is spending much time visiting him these days anyway.

“Does she know?”

It’s like the fucking devil whispering in his ear. Michael jumps slightly, stepping away from where Jesse has leaned in to fill his head up like the insidious snake he is. “Does she know what?” he challenges, because he doesn’t know what Jesse is referring to.

Jesse’s gaze slides over him, down to his hand which he’s taken out of his pocket to hand off the basket. Jesse pauses, his eyes fixed on the healed hand, and then he smiles, coolly, before looking at him. “I see.” He gives a thoughtful noise. “It’s important to be honest with your friends.”

He’s scared.

He doesn’t want to admit to it, but Michael’s _scared_ for the first time since Max healed him. He hadn’t needed to lie to anyone else in Roswell because they’d run that night, but Jesse knows. Jesse knows what happened to his hand, and all of a sudden, Michael is a seventeen year old kid in a shed again, and he wants to scream. 

Jesse’s attention is still towards Michael’s hand, not seeing the tears forming in his eyes, and Michael grips his hand at his side tightly, trying to bury his anger and his pain. 

“Have you seen my son lately?” 

Michael inhales shakily, the cans on the nearby shelf wobbling as he fights to get his fury to behave and his powers along with it. “No,” he spits out, grateful that he can be honest about this. “Haven’t talked to him in a while.” Which is also true, he just wishes he knew what Alex was doing, how he is, and _where_ he is.

“Shame.”

Michael inhales shakily, his nostrils flaring.

“If you do talk to him,” Jesse comments casually, wandering towards the next aisle. “Tell him that his old man misses him.” 

He walks away and Michael swears he almost collapses as he exhales shakily, closing his eyes and trying to orient himself in the present day. He’s surrounded by cans of food, shopping carts, and Roswell’s bored housewives. It’s safe, with the thrum of conversation and Top 40 playing on the radio. 

He’s safe. At the very least, he’s not about to get injured by Jesse in this moment.

Michael doesn’t think that either he or Alex are safe, otherwise. 

_What_ , Jesse had said. He knows _what_ he is. 

The way he’d looked at his hand and hadn’t reacted is a terrifying red flag. Jesse knows something, and that means that Michael needs to go to ground for a while.

It also means that his messages to Alex need to change. 

On his way towards the exit (and the security of Maria’s company), Michael leaves another voice message. “Your Dad’s looking for you,” he says. “Don’t come back here, Alex. Stay away, stay far away until you find that solution of yours.” Once he hangs up, he takes out the SIM card and crushes it beneath the heel of his boot, no matter how much it breaks his heart to sever his last known connection to Alex until they can figure out what to do about Jesse. The last thing he needs is for Jesse to use him to get to Alex and to somehow hurt him because Michael showed him the way.

He walks away from the crushed card in the grocery store, plastering a faux-smile on his lips as he exits. 

Michael ignores the fact that he still sees Jesse’s truck sitting in the parking lot, his eyes fixed on Michael and Maria as they load up the groceries.

“You okay, Guerin?” Maria interrupts him, when he’s been standing at the side of her truck for at least two minutes, unmoving, after he’d loaded the last of the bags in the back. 

He drags his gaze away from where Jesse is staring at him, forcing himself to nod his head and lie. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Jesse Manes…” 

She makes a sour face, like it’s all he had to say. She reaches over and squeezes his forearm. “Let’s go get the good tequila from the Pony and get so drunk that we forget about Jesse Manes completely,” she says fiercely. 

Michael’s pretty sure that amount of tequila doesn’t _exist_ , but boy, is he fucking willing to try.

* * *

Isobel checks her reflection one last time in the glass doors leading into the police station, adjusts the bag in her hands, and heads straight to Deputy Kyle Valenti’s desk. 

Perching on the corner, she waits until she gets Kyle’s attention. She does have to tap under the brim of his white cowboy hat to do it, which is extremely annoying, when the rest of the office had stopped what they were doing to leer at her. Satisfying and creepy in its own way, but at least it makes her feel like she’s in charge.

“I brought bagels,” she announces, giving the bag in her hand a little wiggle.

Kyle gives her a wary look, which might be deserved. They haven’t really said more than a few words to one another since high school ended (and given her blackouts, she wouldn’t remember if there were more). “Hi?”

“Is the cowboy hat part of the uniform?” she wonders, glancing behind her to where there’s another one sitting on Jenna Cameron’s desk. “Don’t get me wrong, you pull it off very well,” she insists, leaning in to layer on some more praise. “It’s very sexy.”

Kyle stares at her like he’s trying to figure something out. 

“I drop by to visit your brother, we have one drink, and suddenly Isobel Evans is here. Did he sic you on me?”

“I can’t drop by the local law and provide them with sustenance?” she asks, digging into the bag to pull out a blueberry bagel, waving it around before finding a packet of cream cheese to spread on it. She brought them, which means she’s allowed to eat as many as she wants. “I’m not here because of Max.”

“Really?” Kyle asks, squinting at her. “Because the timing’s suspect.”

She rolls her eyes. _Men_. “Whatever dick measuring the two of you were doing has nothing to do with my visit,” she guarantees. “I mean it. I wanted to come here,” she says, sweetening up her tone until it’s all honey and no vinegar, “and make sure that you were being well taken care of.”

The look he’s giving her means that her attempt is falling flat.

Honestly, the way he’s pursing his lips together like a muppet would be amusing if it didn’t make her beyond frustrated that her wiles aren’t working. She’s giving herself one more attempt before she goes into his head and influences him into giving her what she needs – no muss, very little fuss. 

“What do you want, Isobel?” he demands, as she’s batting her eyelashes and readying attempt number two. 

So much for trapping flies with honey.

She huffs and lets her posture slouch as she drops the bagels on the desk, giving up the fight. “Fine,” she says, losing all the charm and easygoing nature in her tone. “I need a favor.” 

“You need something that I can give you,” Kyle echoes. “And you’re trying to bribe me with bagels?”

“They were out of protein powder,” she snarks. “Most people like bagels.”

“Most people don’t show up, newly back in town, and ask the police for favors,” Kyle counters, like Isobel’s acerbic tongue isn’t taking any skin off his back. “You want something,” he echoes her earlier comment, “I’m almost scared to ask what.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not scandalous,” she confirms, taking a vicious first bite of her bagel. “I have a new client.”

“Aren’t they protected by client-attorney privilege?” Kyle suggests, taking off his hat as he leans back to rock in his chair, giving her a speculative raise of his brow. “I’m pretty sure that you can’t talk to me about that.”

“I’m not here to talk about her case,” Isobel guarantees. “It’s more something related to her. The Cortez family,” she says. “Do you know the name?”

Kyle stops rocking. He slides back to attention, eyeing her warily. “Yasmin Cortez died last year. We were investigating it, but out of nowhere, the government took over, said that it was classified. It wasn’t the first time,” he admits, looking a bit unsure about that, leaning back as he checks on the sheriff’s office to see if anyone is close enough to hear their conversation. “Why do you care about this?”

“Because it’s not right,” Isobel insists. “I started looking into it, and there were twelve other cases like this,” she says, giving him a pointed look. “Twelve, Kyle. The government swoops into a tiny town like Roswell and all of a sudden the body is gone, and the only thing they leave in its place is a flimsy explanation. Maybe there’s something deeper going on, and if I can give Elena some piece of mind, great. If I can dig up enough of a case to sue the government and make sure she’s set for life?” She’s got her plan in mind, like a shark setting her sights on a target, “Even better.”

“I can’t just give you these files, Isobel,” Kyle warns.

There’s something in his voice, though, that says she’s not about to be kicked out.

“You can’t _give_ them to me,” she says.

“No,” he agrees, glancing around, his eyes resting on his mother’s office for a long moment. Then, he leans in to talk to her, a little quieter, “but maybe if you and I were in the same records room and I happened to take the files out while you had a chance to look at them, we wouldn’t have to explain that.”

She stands up smoothly, leaving the bagels on his desk. 

“I could use a bathroom break,” she says, maybe a little too loud. “That would be…”

“Let me show you,” Kyle says, ever the gentleman.

He presses a hand to her back as they reach the hall. It’s a few steps before he ducks in, his aftershave smelling spicy and minty and exciting as he guides her towards what looks like the holding cells and the records room.

“You’re not arresting me, are you, deputy?” she can’t help teasing.

Kyle rolls his eyes and digs out his keychain, nodding towards the room behind him. She follows into what has to be the dustiest room she’s ever seen in her life. Her first breath makes her inhale a whole cluster of it and she sneezes almost half a dozen times in a row, shooting Kyle a vicious look like it’s his fault.

“Don’t they clean in this office?”

Kyle keeps heading inside. “Are you this nice to everyone you ask for favors?”

And yet, he’s still helping her. Her typical Isobel brand of poking hasn’t pushed him away.

“You think something is going on,” she says, reading into his helpfulness. 

“I don’t know,” Kyle admits. “Right now, I’m just leaving a file out on the table. That’s all. I have theories. We all have theories. That doesn’t mean shit when you can’t piece them together,” he scoffs. “So maybe I’m giving in to my curiosity, letting someone from the outside get eyes on the case, even if letting a lawyer do this for me is the definition of a long shot.”

He opens one of the filing cabinets and digs out a normal-sized folder, putting it on the table in front of her. 

“Here’s the Cortez file, the actual one.”

She gives him a confused look.

“The government took copies, but I kept my own,” Kyle says. “By that point, another suspicious death and the feds showing up? I figured something was up.”

“Smart boy.”

“Damn right. You have two minutes,” he warns. “Then I need to escort you out of here, or someone’s going to think something’s up.”

Isobel absently pushes the folder open, not even looking up as she adjusts her purse. “Let them think we’re screwing in here, then.”

He sputters so much that she can’t help but sneak a look up, enjoying the way he’s gone completely pink beneath the scruff. She vaguely remembers Kyle being voted ‘Most Likely To Succeed’ in the yearbook, but she thinks that’s only because there was no category for ‘Most Likely To Grow Up Smoking Hot’.

She peeks up and gives him a flicker of a smile, winking at him, but when she glances down to the files, her good mood vanishes almost instantly. 

It's enough to make her feel like someone’s poured ice water down her spine.

“What is it?” Kyle asks.

Isobel can’t speak. She’s staring at a photograph that she’s never seen before, but her heart is in her chest because it strikes a chord of familiarity. She’s staring at the image of a vivid handprint – one she knows intimately well – and it covers Yasmin Cortez’s chest, like a brand. 

She closes the file with a snap, fixing her gaze on Kyle.

Isobel sneaks inside his head, worms her way in, and leaves one little demand: _You’re going to let me take this file. You want to. You want to solve this case. You’re going to let me have it. You’re going to help me_

She withdraws as quickly as she’d gone in, tipping her head to the side as she waits, patiently. Isobel hadn’t even thought to stay in there and look some more, so shaken by the picture of the handprint.

“You can take it, if you want,” Kyle says, his voice hollow and distant. “If you want to look at it some more.”

Snapping the folder closed, she tucks it into her purse. “Aren’t you just a peach?” she quips, unscrewing her flask to drink from it, the acetone giving her that necessary boost, before she tucks that into her purse on top of the file. “I’ll call if I think of anything,” she promises, ruffling his hair on her way out.

Kyle still has that distant look in his eyes, like his brain is having trouble reconciling what he just did, which means she’d best get out of there and fast. Deep down, he’d wanted the help, but she’s not sure if he’d meant to get it in _exactly_ the way that Isobel has influenced him to do.

If escaping before Kyle realizes that isn’t motivation enough, she’s got something else driving her on – namely, the fact that the very same handprint she once saw on the bodies of three dead girls is popping up again on someone else who died when she wasn’t in Roswell.

“Hey! Isobel, thanks for the bagels!” Jenna says, as Isobel storms out of the precinct. She hears Jenna’s muttered, “…or not,” as she heads out, her mind so fixed on her task that she doesn’t even think about how rude she’s being.

There’s no time for niceties when there’s alien drama afoot. 

This calls for a family meeting.

* * *

Max isn’t sure what to make of Isobel insisting that they all meet up _urgently_. She’s not usually the one who calls them together and considering she’d warned them that this isn’t a run-of-the-mill chat, he’d had to get someone to cover the rest of his shift so that he could be here. 

And he is, here. When Isobel tells you to jump, you ask if the leap was good enough. You don’t challenge her and ask why. He’s even on time.

It just means he’s going to have to put up with Isobel being petulant because Michael insisted they do this at the Pony. He’d wanted a whole bar of liquor to choose from, if it’s as bad as she’s implying. For Max, it just means that if he’s smart, he should make sure he goes into this conversation at least a little tipsy to give himself some strength to get through Isobel’s scowling about their location. 

“Maria, can I get a round of drinks?” Max orders as he comes into the Wild Pony, giving her a pleading look when she gives Isobel a sour look at the table he’s about to head to. “Please,” he begs, because Michael’s already depressed and if Max makes him drink at Saturn’s Ring, he’ll never hear the end of it. He digs out a few twenties and puts them on the counter to tip very generously.

That seems to get her past her irritation with Isobel.

“Fine, but only because I know Dr. Evans is a hardworking surgeon and Michael’s a good friend,” Maria allows. 

“Thank you,” he says, leaning over the bar to kiss her cheek before heading back to the booth to slide in beside Isobel. Michael’s head is bowed over the table, working on his papers with a pen in hand, brow furrowed and clearly not up for conversation. 

At some point, he and Isobel are going to have to talk to him and figure out why he’s been so depressed since they came back to Roswell. Maybe it’s the boyfriend he had? Or was it a girlfriend? Max had lost track, seeing as Michael had a tendency to withhold information from them about his relationships, and they only knew that someone was with him from the comings and goings of the basement door.

“Okay, Iz, we’re all here. What is it that you wanted us to know?” Max asks, seeing as she’d been the one to insist they meet _now_. He’s grateful that it’s managed to get Michael out, even if he’s clearly not fit for company.

Isobel’s still fighting to pluck the pen out of Michael’s hand. “Can you at least pay attention?”

“I have pop quizzes to grade from a bunch of twitchy students who think their future is on the line,” Michael complains. “The worst part is not getting to be honest that only about two of them actually have a shot of getting into a decent university.”

Max sighs. “Michael…”

“Oh, save it, you remember Roswell High. It wasn’t exactly a petri dish of geniuses.”

“I didn’t call you here so I could watch you grade papers and get drunk!”

“Really? Cuz that’s my regular Tuesday night these days, I just don’t usually have company.”

Max lets out a long sigh. “Can you two stop?”

True, they don’t have proof that they’re related and there’s no telling how old each of them are, but in moments like this, it’s endlessly clear that Max is the older brother to two desperately annoying little siblings. 

Michael sulks, Isobel looks momentarily triumphant, but then she rolls her eyes. 

“Fine, I’m sorry to drag you out like this and annoy you into _paying attention_ , but this is important,” she says.

“Isobel, what is it?” Max coaxes, because the sooner they get to why this is so important, the sooner Max will get to go home. He’s been working a lot of long shifts at the hospital to try and prove himself to his colleagues and he’s _tired_. 

She glances around the Pony, almost like she’s suspicious they’re being watched, and then reaches for her bag to pull out a few folders. He doesn’t know why she’d bring him and Michael here for a show and tell with a folder, but she’s got his curiosity. Max frowns when he sees a picture slipping out of one of them, his alarm only growing when he pries at the photo enough to get confirmation.

“Jesus, Isobel!” he hisses.

“What the hell?” Michael finally snaps up to pay attention. 

“Why are you bringing autopsy photos to the bar? How do you even _have_ these?” Max demands, and then it all makes sense. “Valenti.” 

That’s got to be why she’d been asking after him.

Michael leans forward, flipping the folder shut. “What the hell is Valenti doing with autopsy photos that have alien handprints on them?” he demands. He buries them under his stack of papers, but Isobel pulls at them so they’re fully in their line of sight. 

“The sister of my latest bankruptcy case pointed me in this direction and Kyle was already suspicious,” she whispers. “The government came in and took the case away from them, and not only this time. Twelve other times. Handprints on their chests, sometimes over their faces.”

That gets their attention. Max stares at Michael, thinking about the handprints on the other bodies, but as he pulls the photos closer to him, he reads the dates on the bottom of the pictures, and that floods him with relief. When this happened, they were in Albuquerque, which means that Isobel _couldn’t_ have done it.

Only, that’s a relief for about two seconds before the terror kicks in.

Isobel _couldn’t_ have done it, which means that someone else did, and it wasn’t any of them. Or, worse, it was, and Isobel isn’t better like they thought and somehow, she’s been sneaking back to Roswell and this has all been continuing without any of them the wiser.

They’re both really shitty options. 

“What do we do?” Isobel hisses, oblivious to Max’s thoughts.

She’s looking at Max. Moments later, Michael glances at him, too, like they’re falling into the natural state of things, waiting for his command. 

The trouble is, Max doesn’t have a goddamn clue. “I guess all we can do right now is figure out how deep this thing goes,” he says, pulling one of the autopsy images towards him. As much as he hates to admit it, Valenti might actually be useful right now, but what he can’t shake is the date at the bottom of the picture. “This all happened while we were gone,” Max says, staring at the dates on the files, trying to ignore the foreboding itch at his spine. 

If it happened while they were gone, it can’t be Isobel. If it’s not Isobel, then what does that mean about those murders all those years ago, the ones that never sat right between him and Michael.

It's a weird feeling, this dread and relief combining at once. Max shakes his head, staring down at the photo and an alien handprint staring back at him. “This means…”

“Holy shit,” says Michael, as they stare at the photo in Max’s hand, processing the fact that someone out there is killing people in Roswell and it’s not just any random someone. 

“Yup,” Isobel confirms, inching in to stare at proof that, “We are not alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, next week:
>
>> _“One of these days, Michael, you gotta put yourself first,” Max says, his voice choked up with emotion, “but selfishly? Fuck, I’m so relieved you’re here. I worry all the time about Isobel, that she’s gonna relapse, but I know that if you’d stayed back there, I would’ve worried about you, too. You’re our family, Michael.”_
>> 
>> _“Yeah, and you’re mine,” Michael agrees, sipping his bottle of beer. “It’s why I’m here. It’s why I chose you two.”_  
> 


	5. Strong Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Michael have a brotherly heart to heart about returning to Roswell and what they left behind. Isobel and Kyle get a promising lead in the case. Max uses his powers to help save a life and Isobel has to come cover his tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, you may notice that this is being posted on a different day and that's going to become a new pattern! Given recent events, I will be moving to twice a week posting for this story as my energy to make this a "season long" thing faded recently. You can expect posts on Wednesday AM and Sunday mid-day. I was already 95% finished this with a little polishing to do on the edits and the final chapter, so I can guarantee that it will be completed.
> 
> One other note, while this is a s1 rewrite and it will take a lot of the plots, there will be no love triangles of any sort. There will be close friendships and themes of family, but love triangles is not something that will be featured here.

Michael’s not at his apartment when Max swings by with a six-pack.

He texts Isobel, but she tells him that he’s not at their place, and a quick check of the Pony has Maria letting him know that he hasn’t been there in a few days. After Max checks out the usual haunts, he heads out for the desert, knowing that there’s one last place where he might find Michael. When he pulls up to the turquoise caves, he sees the boards have already been moved.

X marks the spot. 

Inside, Michael is sitting cross-legged in front of one of the pods, scribbling in a notebook.

“Hey, bud,” Max calls over to him. “Been looking for you.”

To say that he’s been concerned about Michael is definitely an understatement.

When they first got back, he’d sort of understood why he was in a mood. Roswell had never been kind to Michael the way it had to Max and Isobel, but it’s been months now and he’s still depressed and forlorn. He never comes out with them unless they drag him, and he’s not responding to texts on any kind of regular basis.

“Yeah, well, you found me,” he mutters, head buried in his notes.

“Are you gonna tell me what the hell crawled up your ass? Or do I have to keep guessing?”

Michael looks up at him, and the look he gives Max is dangerously angry, like he’s been holding something back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I still mattered. We’re back in Roswell, like you wanted,” he snaps. “Why the fuck do you care whether I like it or not?” He drags his knee closer and vindictively presses the tip of the pencil to paper, continuing a sketch that looks a lot like a ship.

During his master’s program, Michael had built a spaceship for one of his courses. The external material had resembled the pods so similarly that Max had wondered, more than once, how long Michael’s been working on a ship. 

“You hoping to get out of here?” he asks, gesturing to the ship sketch.

Michael lets the notebook fall to the ground, slamming it shut, and he gives Max an annoyed look. “What if I am? You gonna guilt trip me for that, too?” He grabs at the chain he wears around his neck, fiddling with it, and he drags out the pendant with it, rubbing his thumb over the broken piece of alien glass.

He’d started wearing that eight years ago, and Max had always assumed it was a way for him to connect with their true nature – like a tattoo, but less permanent. Though, it’s not like he’s ever without it, so it might as well be.

“I just want to know what happened. You were so happy at UNM, then as soon as we get back here, it’s like you’re the polar opposite.” Max looks at him, knowing how he feels, because that low-level pain has been there every morning and night. Whatever Michael is hurting from, it’s enough that Max feels it. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I don’t think I can, not about this,” Michael confesses, shaking his head. “It’s not mine to tell.”

“Michael…”

“I was with someone, okay?” Michael says, rubbing at his cheeks with the heel of his palm, sniffing sharply. “In Albuquerque, I was with someone.”

 _Was_.

“You’re not anymore?”

Michael doesn’t answer with words at first. He shrugs, listlessly, and it takes a long stretch of silence before he continues, with Max unwilling to prod at him.

“Couldn’t come to Roswell with me,” is all he says, fiddling with the chain around his neck before he lets it go, staring at the pods. “Can’t blame ‘em, I barely wanted to come back.” He stares at Max, looking exhausted and young. “For the first time in my life, I really thought I had a future. I had you and Iz, I had a relationship,” he says. “And then I had to choose.”

Max stares at him as the weight of what Michael did hits.

 _Again_.

He put his family over himself again.

“One of these days, Michael, you gotta put yourself first,” Max says, his voice choked up with emotion, “but selfishly? Fuck, I’m so relieved you’re here. I worry all the time about Isobel, that she’s gonna relapse, but I know that if you’d stayed back there, I would’ve worried about you, too. You’re our family, Michael.”

“Yeah, and you’re mine,” Michael agrees, grabbing one of the beers that Max brought and opening it with his powers so he can take the first sip. “It’s why I’m here. It’s why I chose you two.” 

Max wishes that Michael didn’t have to choose. 

“Maybe this person,” he says, cautiously not saying ‘her’, because he’s starting to understand why Michael’s being so vague about it, “maybe they’ll come back to you, if they really love you?”

Michael stares at the pendant for a long moment. “That’s the thing. It’s not that love’s the thing that’s lacking.” He takes in a deep breath and pushes the paper aside. “You’re happy, right? You have a good job, you like this place. Besides,” he says, letting out a rough laugh. “Now that Isobel’s proven that there’s another alien, I can’t go.”

He doesn’t say the word ‘trapped’, but the way he’s acting makes it seem like he’s got some opinions about how it makes him feel. 

“What do you make of that?” Max asks, leaning back against the wall of the cave, sipping his beer. “All those years, we thought we were alone, now there’s proof that there’s someone else?” He shakes his head.

“You know what I keep thinking?” Michael’s set down his beer, staring at Max speculatively. 

Max nods, to encourage him, but Michael takes another moment, like he’s considering what it is he’s about to say. 

“You have a handprint when you heal someone,” Michael says, “but me, my powers never leave a mark on anyone, and Isobel’s don’t either. The thing is,” he says, his brow furrowed. “The girls we left in the cave did. They had handprints on them, Max, and Rosa had one over her mouth,” he says, as if Max needs the reminding.

Max frowns, “It wasn’t Isobel.”

“That’s my point,” Michael says emphatically. “We know Isobel isn’t responsible for the other deaths because she was _with us_ the whole time. We have her alibi. Hell, we _are_ her alibi, we know it wasn’t her.”

“What are you saying, Michael?”

“I’m saying that whatever happened with those girls, maybe this is our clue that leads us to finding out what really happened,” he says. “So yeah, I gotta stay here and figure this out. We need answers about where we came from, who we are, but I want this burden off me. Until I know for sure who killed those girls, I’m letting Isobel think it’s me and honestly, Max, I don’t want it much longer, so we gotta figure this out.”

For the first time in almost a decade, they actually have a lead. Max drinks his beer and gives Michael a wry look. “You know if you want in on this investigation, you’re gonna have to get okay with Kyle Valenti pretty quickly.”

Michael scowls at the mention of his name. “Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” Max agrees, clinking their bottles together, always selfishly pleased that Michael hates the guy as much as he does. 

Max isn’t sure why. He’d hated him because he was an asshole and always seemed overly jealous when it came to Liz, not to mention he was that typical high school douchebro. Michael had always agreed with the vitriol and had his own fair share of bitching to do, though Max had always assumed it was brotherly solidarity. The more time that passes, the more Max thinks there’s something personal there. Maybe it’s because Michael’s bisexual and told Max that he’d figured it out back in high school with a crush on an unnamed guy.

He might have had Isobel fooled, but Max hadn’t been. Sometimes, Max had to wonder whether Michael hated Valenti because he was an asshole to anyone who was different, or because he’d been an asshole to someone _specific_. 

“So what do we do next?” Max asks. “I know we told Isobel to stick close to Valenti, but what do you and I do about this?”

“We let Isobel keep up her investigation,” he says. “You keep working at the hospital and see if you can find records of patients with handprints. I’ll talk to some contacts, see if I can poke around and get answers. Maybe we’re not alone, Max,” he says hopefully.

“Yeah,” Max scoffs. “And maybe this other alien is a murdering psychopath. I’m not sure I want to meet them.”

“Even if they have answers?”

Max wants to make sure this doesn’t go badly. “Michael, over a dozen murders. Maybe more, if this alien was the one possessing Isobel that night. You want to get answers from them, but do you really think they’d be willing to tell us the truth?”

That seems to cut through Michael’s hope, seeing as he shakes his head, giving up that idea quickly. Max gets it, though. They’ve been on their own for so long that it would be a relief if they could get advice from someone. Even the concept of _answers_ is something he’s desperate to get.

The far-out hope of family, love, and belonging has always seemed so distant, but with an alien murderer in their midst, he’s not sure if he should be wary about being related to someone like that or desperate to find out more about who they are and what they can do.

“What do you _want_ to do?” Michael asks him.

Sometimes, Max hates that they look to him for answers. He likes being in charge, but he doesn’t want to think about failing either of them. Lucky for him, this one’s easy.

“Isobel’s not gonna let up on the case,” he admits. “I guess we keep our eye on Valenti, make sure he doesn’t find out too much. I think you’re right. We should start asking our own questions around town, see if anyone else is walking around with strange inexplicable powers,” he suggests. “Look into group home records?” 

He sighs, heavily, because this would be so much easier if they had help.

“What we could really use is a hacker.”

The look of pain on Michael’s face doesn’t fit with Max’s admission, but he lets out a choked sob as he shakes his head. “Let me make some calls,” is all he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You want a ride back into town?” Max asks, slowly pushing to his feet. He knows that Isobel isn’t about to let up with this crusade of hers, and he wants to be around in case she stumbles onto anything that he’d rather she not learn. 

Michael’s staring at the pods, but then turns to Max to shake his head.

“No,” he says quietly. “I need some more time.”

“I’m here when you want to tell me what’s going on.”

Michael keeps staring forward, the iridescent colors of the pods flickering over his face. “Hopefully soon, I’ll tell you the whole story.” 

It looks like that’s the best Max is going to get. He leans over to squeeze Michael’s shoulder before he leaves him to his reflection, heading back to Roswell not understanding his brother any better, but at least feeling like he might be better, one day.

* * *

Isobel’s the last one in the office, which is becoming a habit. 

Every night, her bosses bid her goodnight. Her coworkers ask her if she wants to go for drinks, which she declines. Noah hasn’t tried to ask her out since the first time, which she appreciates, though he does linger around her office for coffee breaks, acting like a puppy who wants its master to forgive it. The whole firm probably thinks she’s trying her best to jump a few rungs up the ladder by grinding and putting in her time, but in truth, she’s taking advantage of the privacy to look into old files.

The knock at the door distracts her from where she’s sprawled on the floor in her jeans and sweater, trying to assemble puzzle pieces that she doesn’t understand.

“I brought burgers,” says Kyle, lifting up a bag from the Crashdown.

“In that case, you’re allowed inside,” she tells him, patting the chair beside her, covered in photographs, which she moves to the top of the desk. She pushes to her feet and grabs another chair to join him at the desk, trying to make a small space in the mess for them to eat.

“So,” he says. “How many times have you stared at these photos?”

Her collection of photos has grown exponentially. Kyle had started digging into his files, giving her copies of every suspicious death that he finds. The early ones don’t have handprints, but the later ones do. 

The ones that Kyle made copies of before handing them over to the government are the only ones that do, which makes Isobel wonder just how real the earlier ones are. Lucky for them that Kyle saw something strange going on and decided to do something about it.

All the files from twelve different cases are strewn on her desk. She keeps waiting for Kyle to ask about the handprint, but he doesn’t. He must have some theory of his own (branding, maybe?) and if he’s not going to bring it up, then neither is she.

He punctures the milkshake with a straw, sliding in beside her to stare at the pictures of the second victim – a drifter on his way through town. What Isobel really doesn’t like is why the government is trying to _hide_ all this – it implies a complete knowledge of aliens, but also that they’re doing something about them and want to keep it hush-hush.

“What’s today’s working theory, Deputy?” Isobel prods.

He’s got a new one every day.

Sometimes, she’ll be in the middle of brushing her teeth for work in the morning while she listens to Kyle’s voicemails about drug dealers, murder rings, and human trafficking. At other times, he’ll call in the middle of her workout and start asking if she’s ever heard of synthetic drugs with mind-altering abilities. Once, he’d showed up at the house when she was in nothing but her tank top and shorts to ask if she believed in witches. 

Every day, he’s got a new one. 

“I don’t know.”

Well, that’s new.

“Oh, come on,” she encourages. “Don’t tell me you’re already giving up. I was waiting for your new wild and crazy theory,” she prods. “Eventually you were gonna blame Bigfoot, right?”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he snorts. “Or aliens.”

She doesn’t laugh because she feels paralyzed, staring at him like she’s trying to figure out if he means it, but it’s clear he’s just joking. Belatedly (too late, probably), she laughs, and goes back to arranging the photos. “I don’t know, no one here looks like they were probed,” is her cool attempt to add to the humor.

He’s not laughing much. In fact, Kyle looks really down. 

_God_ , she’s going to have to ask, isn’t she? She knows that she could use her powers to get Kyle to leave her alone with the photos, but she doesn’t.

Maybe Isobel likes the company and having the help.

Or it could be that she just likes having Kyle around.

“Why are you sulking?” she finally asks, because she feels like they’re not going to get past it until they talk about it. “That pretty face of yours doesn’t deserve to look so sad, you look like a puppy that got kicked,” she says.

Not that any puppy she’s ever met is nearly as handsome as Kyle Valenti, but she thinks he gets the point.

“I was awful in high school.”

That’s… _not_ what she was expecting. 

Isobel glances up from the records on the desk in front of her. “Okay,” she says evenly, not sure where that came from. She knows that she hadn’t been much better, but they’re looking into a serial killer, not comparing old scars, and his behavior in high school shouldn’t be why he’s upset right now.

“When I got back here, one of my first cases was a shooter who’d killed an old lady in the crossfire. I wanted to throw him in jail and lock away the key, because I was young and brash and stupid. Everything was black and white to me in high school and a little bit after that. My father was the one who taught me that it doesn’t matter what someone’s done. It’s not our job to pass judgment. We abide by the rules of the law, but judgment is waiting on a jury out there.”

It sounds like there are a lot of weird rules in the Valenti family, but Isobel doesn’t plan to touch that with a ten-foot pole. 

“These people,” he says. “They’re the people at the fringes of society. They never had football scholarships and they never got a job because of their parents. The person that hurt them isn’t in front of a jury, and the law can’t punish them if they go unknown. That doesn’t mean that they deserve to be forgotten.”

“You’re here,” Isobel points out, turning towards from Kyle to lightly prod at his foot with her socked toe. “You’re making sure they don’t get ignored.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Because I couldn’t do anything for them before.”

She wheels herself over to him, reaching over to grasp Kyle’s hand in both of her own. “Kyle.” He keeps sulking, staring down at his feet, so she leans in a little, her hair falling over her shoulders as she fights to get in his eyeline. “Deputy Valenti. You’re here, working overtime, outside your own Mom’s jurisdiction, and you care _so much_. You know what we’re doing here?” 

She raises her brows, but when she doesn’t get much more than a grunt, she continues. 

“You’re making sure that this never happens to anyone again. I don’t care how you want to talk about it, but we are shining a light on those deep pockets of Roswell that no one else wants to look into.” She can hear the cadence in her voice growing more confident, firmer, her training kicking in, but Kyle needs to hear it. “Maybe we can’t bring them back, but you know what we can do? We prevent it from happening again. We get the justice they deserve.”

If she had a judge in front of her, she’d rest her case on that note.

He finally looks up at her, giving her a slow smile. “You’re pretty persuasive, you know. Talented skill for a lawyer to have,” he says, the corners of his lips curving up.

She flips her hair over her shoulder, beaming proudly. “I know. I’m pretty incredible.”

That seems to calm him down, and she’s grateful for the respite, giving her a chance to steal a few fries from the bag before going back to the pictures and her notes. What she needs more than anything right now is to establish a timeline of both the murders and the government’s intercession into the investigations.

He doesn’t bring up his personal hangups again and Kyle’s also not sighing like a forlorn girl who just found out her crush likes another boy, so Isobel is relieved to have a chance to focus.

Wiping her hands on a napkin, she arranges the autopsy reports along with the pictures, standing to get a big picture look, which is when she notices something on half the reports, but missing from the other half. 

“Who’s Dr. Holden?” Isobel asks, putting the pictures in chronological order. Once she does that, the common name seems to leap out as suspicious. She inserts a space where the difference begins, which just so happens to be when Kyle started making copies of the originals.

“What?”

“It’s the doctor who signed off on the autopsy reports of all the suspicious records, the ones without the handprints.” 

Kyle frowns, his brow furrowed. “I know that name from somewhere.” He rolls back in his chair, grabbing his phone and frantically pulling up a few texts. She peers over at him, seeing that he’s in the file system, but that he’s looking at his father’s autopsy. That’s not on the table, and it definitely doesn’t belong in the case of suspicious murders of Roswell’s down and out.

And yet, Kyle is acting like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Kyle,” Isobel says, not sure why he’s looking at that. “Your father didn’t have a handprint.”

“No, but look who did the autopsy.” He tips the phone towards her, allowing Isobel to see Dr. Holden’s name, right there. 

“Kyle…”

“Why would my father’s cancer be related to these murders?” he asks. “How?”

It’s an excellent question. For the first time since Isobel brought Kyle into the fold to help her, she starts to wonder if she’s made the right decision. 

If his father had been somehow tangled up in the aliens, then he suddenly becomes a liability. If his father’s death is somehow tied to them, and he finds out what she is, she’s just put a target on her, Max, and Michael.

She eyes him like a mark for a moment, instead of a friend, debating how much it would take to get inside his head and dissuade him from pursuing this, but she still needs an ally. Kyle doesn’t need to know the whole truth, not yet. 

Besides, this is a lead and one she wouldn’t have found without Kyle’s help.

“We find out who Dr. Holden is,” she says, because it’s the first lead they’ve had in the case. “I’ll ask Max, see if he knows who she is.” She’s desperately relieved in the fact that she has that resource, especially if it turns out that she needs to continue this investigation without Kyle at her side. 

“Yeah.” Kyle exhales shakily, reaching for his milkshake. He stares at it, clenching it, and then looks back to Isobel. “I think I need something a _lot_ stronger than this.”

He’s going to suggest what she thinks he is, isn’t he?

“Do you want to get a drink at the Wild Pony?”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to say no. They’re investigating a case together, he’s a resource, he could turn on her, and she hates drinking at the Pony where Maria glares at her. 

Something stops her, though.

Maybe it’s that Kyle’s thinking about his father’s death, maybe it’s her need to keep him on board as a resource, or maybe it’s just because she likes looking at his face. “So long as DeLuca has a decent Pinot Grigio behind that bar with the rest of the swill,” she clarifies. “Sure. I could go for a drink.” 

“I’ll make a few calls,” he says, his smile building with relief. While he steps out, Isobel collects all the files, putting them back in the folders, and locking them in her drawer, glancing around before putting the key in one of the books on the shelves behind her. 

Just as she’s sliding the book back on the shelf, a noise somewhere nearby makes her jump. 

Isobel frowns, glancing out into the hallway, but it’s only Kyle pacing and sounding like he’s asking Maria nicely if she can please make sure to have a bottle of white wine ready. It’s just Kyle.

She puts it out of mind, grabbing the bag of trash from dinner and her purse, locking the door behind her. 

“The Wild Pony?” she suggests, even if it’s a withering acceptance of her fate.

“Yeah,” Kyle agrees excitedly, hanging up. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Isobel wakes up to a 911 text from Max. She’d barely fallen asleep and now she has to get up, trudging to the hospital. When she gets to the front desk, the nurses guide her to pediatrics, telling her that she’ll be able to find Dr. Evans there.

 _Oh, Max_ , she thinks. _What did you do?_

These 911 texts are infrequent because there are _rules_. 

Originally, they’d started out as Max’s rules, but Isobel had co-opted them along the way when it became clear that she’s the one doing most of the heavy lifting. It’s why he only gets to do this twice a year because as good as Isobel is, she doesn’t want to find out what happens if she screws up. Letting Max run wild with his charitable healing hands and leaving her to sweep up the mess leaves room for error and she doesn’t like it. When she’d been cramming for the bar, the last thing she needed was late acetone-fuelled nights, which had been when the two a year cap was instituted and has stayed ever since.

Drawing her sweater a little tighter around herself, Isobel finds the room that Max is in, holding vigil over a sleeping boy who can’t be more than five years old.

“Iz,” he says, looking pale and wrecked.

She holds out the bottle of acetone to him, taking a seat on the other side of the bed. “What does he need to forget?”

“He was in a car wreck,” Max says, his voice harrowed and breaking. “He couldn’t stop bleeding internally. I was the only one in the room when I diagnosed it as a fatal injury,” he assures, which means Isobel isn’t going to have to go into the minds of too many people tonight. On the boy’s hip, the handprint is already glimmering. “His parents, and him,” he says. “That’s who needs to forget. The nurses need to know not to touch the bandage.”

Isobel nods, standing so that she can get into the boy’s head and convince him that nothing strange happened with Dr. Evans, and that he’d been rescued with a risky procedure. She steps into the hall to do the same with the parents, before leaving a whisper of suggestion in all the nurses minds not to touch the boy’s bandage.

She comes back an hour later, listless and sick, accepting the bottle of acetone Max provides her. 

They sit in the hall together, alone, with the eerie night sounds of the hospital echoing around them. She sips at the acetone until she feels better, handing back the bottle to Max, watching as he tucks it back in his pocket, like he’s preparing for the next emergency use. 

“Max, you can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly.

“What was I supposed to do, let him die?” Max pleads. He still looks awful. There are dark bruises under his eyes, but Isobel thinks that’s from having an emotional reaction and not from use of his powers.

Michael’s theory that their powers grow stronger with use has proven true. The more they do it, the less they need the acetone. It’s a little like her pilates class – eventually, the burn becomes normal and the body can bear it. 

“He’s a kid, Isobel. I don’t care how many people we need to trick.”

“How many people I need to trick,” she corrects him sharply. “It was different in Albuquerque, Max. It was a bigger hospital, we could pretend that paperwork got lost or patients got mixed up. We had more back up plans. That’s not going to be the case here in Roswell.”

“It’s why I have the rules,” he protests. “Twice a year, like you said.”

“Which may be twice too many,” Isobel admits.

She’s expecting the horrified look on Max’s face, but it still cuts to her core. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she protests softly.

“You know what I can do. What would happen if I just ignored it? If I let these people die?” he protests, grabbing at the acetone so he can chug some of it back. “I’d never be able to live it down. Ever since…”

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to.

 _Rosa_.

“It’s not your fault that you couldn’t heal her,” Isobel says fiercely. “Michael’s powers were out of control, you did the best you could, Max.” Sometimes, she wonders if all of this is Max’s fervent attempts to undo the past. 

She’s not sure if he’s doing it for his own sake or to try and make it up to Liz. Isobel’s not sure she can force herself to ask. 

Max stares at her sadly, and Isobel presses her lips together. “I know you don’t like to talk about what Michael did,” she says, sharply, trying to bring that disappointment off of Max’s face. “What happened that night isn’t your fault. It was a mistake and you couldn’t heal her. That’s not your fault.”

“Let’s not talk about that, Iz,” Max pleads quietly.

She’s not eager to talk about what happened, especially seeing as her continued therapy sessions over the phone have helped her deal with the worst of her trauma, but that doesn’t mean she wants to go jogging down that memory lane. 

Isobel sighs, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself. “Twice a year,” she agrees. “If there’s even the slightest _hint_ that someone is onto us…”

“I know.”

He says it too quickly, though, and Isobel needs him to understand.

“Max, there are photos at the police precinct of victims with alien handprints. What do you think,” she hisses, “is going to happen if we miss someone and they find it on a patient? How long before it comes back to us?” 

Max bows his head, staring at his hands. “It won’t come to that.”

“It better not.”

He glares at her. “I would _never_ do anything to hurt you or Michael, you know that.”

She does know that. He looks wounded that she’s implied that he’d ever do anything like that, and it hurts, but she needs him to understand that this isn’t a place where they can hide as easily. Here, they have family and friends and a past that can be looked into. They’re not as protected as they were, when they were in a big city where they could fade into the background.

She stands, holding both hands out to him, wiggling her fingers. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”

He sways a little, reaching out to grab her forearms, letting Isobel help haul him to his feet. She reaches up, her thumb brushing at those exhausted circles under his eyes. 

“Stop working too much.”

“Yes, Mom,” he sarcastically replies.

“Ew,” says Isobel, wrinkling her nose. “Let’s not go there.” While she’s still got him in her arms, she pulls him in for a tight hug, refusing to let him go. “You did an amazing thing tonight, Max. You saved that boy’s life, and I don’t want to stop that. I just need to make sure that we’re being careful.”

“I know,” Max promises, and this time, he isn’t jumping on it, too quick to the answer. “I know. If things get dicey, I’ll back off, I promise.”

“Good,” she says, and now that she’s got the immediate crisis out of the way, Isobel can move on to her request. “Max, have you ever heard of a Dr. Holden?”

He shakes his head, giving her a confused look. “You know that I’m your doctor, Isobel,” he says, “as awkward as that is sometimes” He doesn’t need to remind her of the many gynecological exams he’s given her over the years. “You shouldn’t be looking for second consults, so why do you want to know?”

“It’s the name of the doctor who signed off on the autopsies _without_ the handprint,” she explains. “And the same one who signed off on Jim Valenti’s, but not the autopsies with actual handprints.”

Max presses his lips together thoughtfully, gesturing for Isobel to follow him to the nearby nurse’s station. He types in a few things, bringing up the hospital’s staffing registry, but when they get to the H, there’s no Holden. “She could be retired?” he suggests. “I can ask around.”

“Do it quietly?” she suggests.

“Isobel,” Max says, standing up and giving her a wary look. “Did you find something?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Which is why I need you to look into that name. I’m going back to bed because it’s _late_ , but just reminding you that you used up one of your phone calls.” She taps her cell phone, then pats her palm over Max’s chest. “You got one more left, and it’s not even June. Use it wisely, brother.”

“If I look into this name for you, do I get another?”

Isobel gives him a withering look as she gets her keys out of her pocket, ready to go back to bed so she can sleep off the impending headache she always gets from being in other people’s heads. “You look into this name for me, and I don’t sic Michael on you to shout at you for being an idiot.”

Max pulls a face, knowing when he’s been beat. “Deal.”

“Good.”

Thank god he’s good with it, because she’s too tired to argue, and the pillow at home is singing her name, beckoning her back to bed where she can dream of happy things and no emergency summons to fix Max’s shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in Sunday's chapter (hint, someone's returning to Roswell!):
>
>> _“Hey, Isobel, hey?” Kyle’s right there, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay.”_
>> 
>> _She’s crying, but she doesn’t want to be. She’s in public, for god’s sake, at the Wild Pony, in front of Maria. Get yourself together, Evans, she commands herself, and looks at Kyle, trying to give him a nod as she accepts the napkin from him._
>> 
>> _“Ew,” she says, sniffling. “This has beer on it.”_  
> 


	6. Together Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael receives an unexpected visitor, Isobel gets a huge break in the investigation, which is quickly overshadowed by her foundation being shaken by some news, and Alex returns to Roswell.

Michael Guerin has a doctorate in engineering and one in astrophysics in progress. He’s smarter than most of the faculty at UNM. He could write Nobel papers. There had been rumblings that JPL and NASA were both jockeying to get him job offers. He’d been a happy man with a good relationship.

Now, look at him. 

He’s teaching _high school_ in the very place that made his life a living hell, separated from the man he loves more than anything for his own safety. The most challenging thing he deals with lately is trying to diffuse high school drama fueled by stupidity and hormones. It doesn’t exactly fill his life with a passion for teaching, but at least he has Isobel’s alien conspiracy to work on and keep his mind occupied.

It’s why his lesson plans have taken a turn for the chaotic, lately. Lack of care, lack of passion, and maybe an unhealthy desire to blow up as much shit as he can to externalize his chaos.

“Okay, guys, who wants to see a fireball?”

Ever since Michael got back to Roswell, he’s been miserable. Not only is he back in a shitty place, fearing Jesse Manes around every turn, but it’s not like he can teach the university level material he’s used to. Instead, he’s had to settle for high school chemistry and physics, covering a maternity leave for the chemistry position and offering to pick up the latter course since the other teacher didn’t want it. Lucky for him, the chemistry lab has a lot of burners and accelerants, along with a room full of students eager to light things on fire.

The rousing shouts of agreement aren’t surprising; it’s probably a bad thing that they’re willing to feed his desire for chaos like this.

What does he care if he ends up with a few parental complaints?

Once he’s sure Max and Isobel are fine, he’s out of there. He’ll go chase down Alex wherever he’s decided to hole up, and plead for him to let them restart their lives. He followed his family to Roswell, but it’s becoming abundantly clear that his life isn’t _whole_ without Alex in it.

He beckons a few students to come help him get the items they need for the experiment set up, eager to get things started. 

“Let’s get this shit going,” he encourages, ignoring the nervous titter of laughter around the class. 

It’s been two months; they should know by now the kind of language they’ll expect in Dr. Guerin’s class (not that he’s _Doctor_ anything to them, because the insecure faculty assholes had hemmed and hawed and insisted that he go by Mr. Guerin at the school so it wouldn’t make the other teachers _uncomfortable_ ). Michael’s in the middle of starting the chain reaction when he feels a prickle at the back of his neck. 

There’s a hush that falls over the class before the whispers start. Michael pushes a hand through his curls to get them off his forehead, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being _watched_ , but when he finally looks up, nothing could prepare him for what he sees.

There, at the back of his class, is someone who he’d given up on expecting. 

His hand hovers shakily with the beaker of accelerant, to the point that one of his students politely clears her throat and snaps Michael out of it. 

He’s had this dream before. Though, usually in the dream, he’s naked and the kids aren’t there. 

“Mr. Guerin?”

Right. He’s got an audience. 

He pockets the lighter, not sure he trusts anyone to be setting off chain reactions right now. “Let’s take a rain check on the experiment, everyone.”

There, at the back of the room, stands Alex, leaning casually against the door like it’s no big deal that he’s _here_. He looks _real_ , but Michael wouldn’t put it past his mind to concoct some hyper-realistic version of him, just to keep his sanity from fracturing at being separated from him for so long.

Michael can’t take his eyes off him. 

Alex is wearing his leather jacket and looking handsomer than ever. The platinum stud earring in his left ear reflects the awful school fluorescents, and even those can’t make the olive-green sweater he’s wearing look bad. It sits at his waist snugly and reveals one of Michael’s flashy belts, keeping his dark washed jeans in place, and Michael wants to grab that chain around Alex’s neck and haul him in, a fierce longing made worse because he’s wearing the guitar pick pendant that Michael made him, out of a piece of his ship. 

He’s so goddamn good looking that Michael wants to cry. 

Michael knows it’s probably because he hasn’t seen him in months, but the needy sound that’s trapped in his throat is still a surprise. He knows he’s teaching, but now that the urge has seized him, he knows there’s no way he’s going to be able to focus. The first few steps towards Alex are unsteady, like he’s worried that this is all some elaborate fantasy. 

It would serve him right, drinking acetone in the morning the way he has been.

Only, with every step that Michael takes, Alex doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t vanish. In fact, he does the opposite, pushing away from the door to meet Michael halfway into the room, grabbing at his sweater to haul him in for a kiss.

The whooping around the room is disgusting and Michael loves it, grinning as Alex tangles his fingers into Michael’s hair to grab him back when Michael dares to ease back an inch to soothe his doubts about whether Alex is really here.

“You’re here,” Michael says, in awe. He’s not a dream.

“It took me a little longer than I expected to get Jesse out of town,” he says apologetically. “Now I’m here, for you. For us. And I’m here to stay.” 

Now that he says it, Michael realizes that he hasn’t seen Jesse in weeks. Before, Michael felt like he couldn’t wander around town without catching a glimpse of him at least once as if he’d been stalking Michael. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d found a way?” Michael pleads. “You could’ve said. You could have told me that you were close to getting him Jesse out. You could have texted me.” He lets out a frustrated noise, unable to vocalize how miserable and awful things have been without him. He knows that he'd told Alex to stay away, but right now, all his petulance is coming home to roost. 

“I couldn’t. Because if it didn’t work,” Alex says quietly, “then I wouldn’t have come back. I didn’t want to give you false hope. I’m sorry for that, Michael. I’m sorry for the radio silence, I’m sorry for the absence, I just had to be _sure_ that he couldn’t hurt us anymore.”

It only occurs to Michael that they’re not alone when a student nearby giggles nervously, an excellent reminder that their emotional reunion is _public_. 

“All right, you hooligans!” Michael calls out, voice rough. “Class is dismissed early, don’t make me regret this!”

The noise is deafening as the students leave, though Michael catches a few of them with their phones out, which means this will be all over social media soon enough – and that means Isobel is going to know about it. 

Fuck it. Michael doesn’t care, even if he knows the ramifications from her finding out before he tells her will be _bad_.

Alex is here with him. Michael stares at him for a long moment, not sure if he’s dreaming this or if it’s real. If it is a dream, he’s not gonna pinch himself, because he never wants to wake up. 

“Are you back? Really back?” he asks him, which isn’t a pinch, but it’s a gentle tap that might end up deflating this dream anyway. 

“No,” Alex says, shaking his head. Before Michael can protest, Alex reaches out for both his hands, “I’m home.” 

The sob he lets out is almost embarrassing, but he grabs for Alex’s hands and brings them to his lips to kiss, taking time to make sure he brushes his lips over every knuckle. Alex moves to tangle his fingers in the chain around Michael’s neck, pulling out the pendant Michael had made, years ago. 

Michael watches the way Alex securely wraps his fingers around the piece of alien ship, pressing his fist against Michael’s fast-beating heart. 

“I missed you,” he whispers.

“I know,” Alex teases, resting their foreheads together. “I got regular texts from Maria about how down you’ve been.” He tips his head to the side slightly, his hair brushing Michael’s forehead as he moves. “I’m pretty grateful that you didn’t decide to move on because I wasn’t here.”

“I couldn’t,” Michael protests, not pointing out that it’s only been a few months and Alex _knows_ why he couldn’t. “I _wouldn’t_.”

True, they were the worst months of Michael’s life, but he’s not the kind of man who’d give up on Alex like that. 

“I heard you got an apartment downtown,” Alex murmurs, his lips sliding over Michael’s jaw. His breath lingers for a moment at the joint of Michael’s jaw and neck, soft exhalations bringing warmth there before he gently tugs at Michael’s earlobe with his teeth, scraping and sucking a kiss into his neck that will leave a mark. 

“Uh huh,” is Michael’s breathy, halting response.

“And you’re paying for it with our joint account?”

Michael swallows hard, eyes closed, and then, “Uh huh.”

“Then I think you’d better show me _our_ place,” is a teasing whisper, as Alex finally lets go of Michael’s hand and reaches down to grope Michael’s ass, bringing their bodies flush together. 

It’s a good thing he dismissed class early, because the behavior he’s about to indulge in is absolutely the kind of thing that gets you sent to the principal’s office -- though, he’s not exactly been a stellar role model for the kids, what with his irresponsible acts, like he’s daring the faculty to fire him. Michael sneaks his fingers into Alex’s waistband to press up against warm skin, yanking his hips hard against Michael’s to do something that would absolutely get him expelled. 

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, loving the glimmer in Alex’s eyes that promises a damn good night. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Isobel arrives at the Pony at precisely six, heading inside to find Kyle at their usual table. It’s annoying that they have a usual, but ever since they had their first drink here, it’s become the new base of operations.

It's a good thing Maria’s started stocking a drinkable white wine. 

He looks disgruntled tonight and he’s texting frantically. She sets a stack of new files down, giving Kyle an expectant look. Something’s happened, that’s clear, and if it’s something to do with their case, she deserves to know. “What is it?” she demands. “Is it about our Visitor?” she asks, using their codename for the serial killer.

Kyle shakes his head, texting with force. “Just a reminder about how much this town sucks,” he sighs. “And how I used to be the problem that I’m dealing with when I was an idiot teenager.” 

Isobel raises a brow to ask for more details, not sure what he’s getting at (sure, she noticed Kyle in high school because he was popular and a jock, but her blackouts had robbed her of much interaction). 

“Just, high school idiocy,” he sighs when Isobel says nothing and it becomes clear that she’s expecting him to fill in the blanks. “Ten years ago, I would’ve been the asshole going home to complain to his parents about his teacher making out with his husband in class. Now, I’m the one dealing with the parents wanting him to get fired and arrested. I’m still ashamed it took me as long as it did to grow up.”

“What teacher in Roswell makes out with their husband in class?” Isobel sniffs haughtily, thinking that maybe the conduct isn’t _appropriate_ , regardless of who’s getting kissed.

Kyle stares blankly at her.

“What?” she asks warily. “Did I not blend properly?”

“Isobel,” Kyle says slowly. “It was Michael.”

She gives a derisive laugh. “Michael’s not married,” she counters. “He’s not even seeing anyone right now.”

“Michael _is_ married,” comes Maria’s voice, despite the fact that eavesdropping is rude as fuck, and Isobel shoots her a glare for that alone, never mind the way she sounds so sure about something that’s impossible. “I was the witness eight years ago.”

Wait. 

What the hell is DeLuca talking about?

Eight _fucking_ years?

She was the _witness_?

Has Isobel been having nearly a decade-long blackout that she’s only now coming out of? “Michael is not married,” she reiterates. “We lived together at UNM. When Max was in med school,” she continues from high atop her high horse, “Michael was finishing his PhD and I did my bar exams, and I know it was busy, but I would’ve known, I…” 

Slowly, the pieces are clicking together.

“He had the basement room in our townhome when we were on the top floor with his own private entrance,” she says out loud. “Sometimes, we’d go weeks without seeing him.” It’s a numb recounting, as little pieces of evidence begin to coalesce. “Max and I were always so busy and Michael never wanted to share, we’d always ask if he had a new girlfriend or boyfriend and he’d just smirk, I…”

Michael’s married?

Michael has a _husband_?

The hurt follows swiftly, because it means that Michael had gotten married and hadn’t even asked for his siblings to be there and after, he hadn’t wanted them to know. “Oh, _Michael_ ,” she says softly, knowing that he probably had his reasons, but it still hurts to know that they hadn’t been considered. “Why didn’t he say?”

Maria abandons her cloth at a nearby table and joins them. “Not that we’re besties or anything,” she warns, as if any kindness that comes from her needs a disclaimer, “but I was the only one who knew until today, when Kyle found out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to know, it was more that Alex didn’t want anyone from Roswell other than me finding out, and I don’t think he knew about whether you or Max still had ties here.”

There’s another piece clicking, even if it doesn’t make sense. “Alex Manes?”

And _oh_ , now Isobel understands why Michael had been so miserable coming back to Roswell. She might not have been good friends with Alex, but everyone had quietly understood how bad of a father Jesse had been, even if they couldn’t do anything about it. 

“Why’s Alex back now?”

“Maybe he’ll let us come around so we can ask him,” Kyle says, and he sounds fairly hopeful himself. 

Maria eyes Kyle, like she knows why he sounds like that. “You better put on some groveling pants if that’s the case,” she says, while Kyle makes a grumpy face, like he hates being reminded of his interactions with Alex (of which Isobel barely remembers). Finally, she walks away, giving them much needed privacy, and reminding Isobel why she hates this bar. 

She also hates the way that she feels adrift. Michael is her brother and she thought that he’d tell her all his secrets, especially the happy ones. 

“Isobel,” Kyle says, reaching over to rest his hand on hers. “I’m sorry, I really thought you knew.”

That stings even worse. She doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy, least of all Kyle Valenti’s, who’s an outsider to the aliens. It doesn’t matter that he’s been helping her solve these crimes, and it doesn’t matter that he’s basically become her best friend, she doesn’t _want_ to want his sympathy.

It’s why it’s so annoying that when he gives it, it comes as a relief.

She’s not so sure what to make of the fact that she’d have been angry if he hadn’t tried to comfort her, because she wants to think that she’s become someone who matters to Kyle.

“What if we…”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she announces sharply, cutting off whatever well-intentioned suggestion he has. That doesn’t mean she intends to drop it, but this is family business, and it means that she needs to talk to Max about what’s going on. That ache isn’t going away, but she has a case to work to take her mind off of.

Kyle doesn’t look so convinced about dropping it. “Isobel, are you sure you…”

“I’ll talk to Michael later,” she guarantees, digging out the last two cases they’d been setting up timelines for, tapping on the pictures. “We’re here to focus on this.”

The heavy sigh from Kyle says that he doesn’t agree with her, but it’s a shame that Isobel has long become used to getting her way. Max and Michael haven’t figured out how to deny Isobel anything, so it would be something of a feat if Kyle managed all of a sudden.

“Isobel…”

Oh, look, he’s trying.

“Michael’s marital status does not matter as much as our Visitor,” she snaps at Kyle, her patience already thin. 

She hurts so much, wondering what she did wrong to make Michael keep this from her, and every time Kyle tries to steer the conversation back towards it, she fears she’s in danger of losing it. She can feel herself slipping, her head aching, and a dark numbness creeping in. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she almost doesn’t hear what Kyle says next.

“Hey, Isobel, hey, look at me?” Kyle’s right there, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

She’s crying, but she doesn’t want to be. She’s in public, for god’s sake, at the Wild Pony, in front of Maria. _Get yourself together, Evans_ , she commands herself, and looks at Kyle, trying to give him a nod as she accepts the napkin from him to wipe at her tears.

“Ew,” she says, sniffling. “This has beer on it.”

“Sorry, I didn’t look at it. Shit,” Kyle says in a hurry, digging through the pile to find a clean one. “I wasn’t bringing up Michael again,” he vows, reaching over to pull up a picture of Isabella Diaz’s autopsy. “I was just pointing out that Isabella has a…”

Whatever he’d noticed, he doesn’t get a chance to finish. Isobel dabs at her eyes, balling up the napkin, smelling a familiar perfume behind her.

Well, at least she knows why he stopped. 

“That poor girl,” Maria says, from where she’s over Isobel’s shoulder. “I knew she never should have gone out into the alley at Ranchero night. Bad enough for creepy lawyer Bracken after her all night,” she huffs. “Then she gets killed by some asshole.”

Isobel’s about to snap at her, because she’s eavesdropping _again_ , but then she actually has some useful information. “What do you mean, creepy Bracken?”

“He comes every Ranchero night, _says_ that he’s going to help them out, but more than once I’ve caught him coming on to the girls,” Maria complains. “With Isabella, I caught them out in the alley with him all over her. She wasn’t fighting back,” she admits and sounds a little remorseful about the fact that she hadn’t done anything. “I just thought she had awful taste in men.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

Maria nods. “I thought it was weird, considering he’s usually an upstanding member of society. I don’t remember seeing her in his car when he left, though, so I figured she came to her senses.” She looks at the pictures with a furrow in her brow. “Are you reopening the case?”

“We’re just looking into some of the legalities behind the investigations,” is Kyle’s even answer.

Maria purses her lips together, and while she doesn’t seem to buy it completely, she lets it drop. “Another round?”

Isobel shakes her head, clearing her throat to get the rest of her grief out. She knows she’ll work her way around to rage soon enough, and Maria’s timely distraction has worked wonders for getting her mind off it.

When you’re in need of a distraction, there’s nothing like a lead on a serial murderer, even if it’s one she can barely believe. 

“You’re a bad liar,” Isobel criticizes Kyle, even if there’s an edge of fondness in her words. At least she’ll know if Kyle’s planning on turning on her. She’ll definitely be able to see it coming. He hems and haws about not being raised to lie, but she’s barely paying attention. Isobel stares at the photos, the handprint, and thinks about the strange, cold feeling she gets when Noah is around. Could he genuinely be the alien? Could he be someone that could kill twelve people? 

It seems impossible. She still remembers Michael pulling up his social media and the sanitized pictures and updates. He’s got an impeccable record in Roswell, other than Maria getting a bad feeling about him, and Isobel’s own chill whenever she sees him. 

Is she really going to accuse her coworker of murder just because of a few feelings, and some of them from a person Isobel doesn’t even like?

“You’re thinking what I am, right?” Kyle asks as he leans in, when a few more locals take up in the booth next to them.

“I don’t know,” she admits, because it’s too soon to tell. “If we’re wrong,” she warns, “then we’re about to accuse a _lawyer_ of murder. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer not to get sued into next week.”

And if they’re right and they act too soon, Isobel’s alerted a dangerous alien that she’s onto him. She can’t see that playing out very well.

“So let’s get evidence,” he insists, sliding his fingers over hers as he pushes the photos out of the way, turning in the booth to face Isobel. “If the pattern holds up, there’ll be another murder soon. Ranchero night is around the corner, and if Noah’s our Visitor, then he’s got to be planning, right? We can put up cameras at his place, in his office, do some surveillance and make sure that we’re not making a mistake.”

It should be strange that she’s so glad to have this in the wake of the personal revelation that just shook her foundation, but she is – glad, that is. “Smart and hot,” she praises, loving the way Kyle’s cheeks flush. “I guess I might just keep you around after all.”

“Glad I could do something for you.”

She bites back the comment that he could do a _lot_ for her, because their relationship isn’t like that. They’re investigating murders and even though Kyle doesn’t know it, they’re finding more of her species. 

There’s no reason to bring sex into the equation and make a mess of things, even if it would be a good distraction, not to mention damn good at the same time. Kyle Valenti seems like the kind of man you don’t kick out of bed, when you’re done.

“Text me when you’re done with the installs, I’ll look into the timeline of Ranchero nights and compare it to the other victims. If it’s not Noah and that’s the hunting ground, then at least we have a lead,” Isobel insists, watching as Kyle collects the files on his way out.

They have an actual lead. It’s the first one that might actually pan out, which is equal parts exciting and terrifying.

It'll bring them one step closer to their mystery alien, and while Isobel knows that’s the whole point, she’s dreading it. Is she dreading it more than she is the conversation she’s about to have with Max? Texting her brother about the lead, she decides to save the big bomb for when she sees him in person.

It’s time to find out if Michael trusted Max more than her, and honestly, she’s not sure what outcome she’s hoping for, right now.

She just found out Michael’s been lying to her for the last eight years. She knows it’s wrong to hope that Max has been left out too, but selfishly, that’s the hope in her heart right now. 

If her heart is going to be broken from him not trusting her, she wants someone to commiserate with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, we're going back in time for a flashback chapter:
>
>> _“Why haven’t you told Isobel and Max about us?” Alex asks one morning, when he’s drawing shapes on Michael’s bare chest. They’re a sweaty post-coital mess, and Michael’s not sure he wants to talk about his siblings._
>> 
>> _He hasn’t even seen them in weeks, because he and Alex own their own apartment, and it’s not like his siblings have that much spare time on their hands. Max is stressing out over his upcoming exams and Isobel’s been cramming nonstop. They haven’t stopped to check on Michael._
>> 
>> _“I love them,” Michael says. “And I trust them, but I also don’t.”_


	7. The One I Gave My Heart To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last nine years for Michael & Alex – the ups, the downs, the secrets, the marriage, the move to Roswell, and the return.

Months after they get to UNM, Michael hasn’t stopped feeling numb. 

It’s like he’s going through the motions. He wakes up, he hangs out with Max and Isobel, he gets a head start on his classwork, he goes to bed. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat. 

Then, one day, he gets an email to his personal account that promises to break the monotony.

_From: Alex Manes  
Subject: Where did u go??_

In the email, Alex writes with frantic worry, asking if he’s okay, if his hand is okay, and tells Michael about Rosa running away and the missing girls. Alex talks about how everyone thinks that Kate and Jasmine got kidnapped by a drifter passing through, and that he’s pretty sure Rosa’s somewhere out there, deliberately ignoring Roswell because of how it treated her. Michael’s not sure how he feels about that, but he can’t help the relief of knowing that they won’t be able to tie it to him, Max, and Isobel.

The email ends with a simple, _I’m so sorry. I miss you. I wish you hadn’t left without us getting a chance to talk._

Michael sneaks away from dinner that night to hole up in his basement room where he can call Alex. Max’s idea to come to UNM actually seems to be working out pretty well, but he’s felt like something’s wrong ever since he got here, and reading Alex’s email has put a spotlight on exactly what it is he’s missing. 

“Alex,” he says, when he picks up, not giving him a chance to speak as he hurriedly continues. “Hey. Are you okay? What happened, after? Are you…?”

“He came back,” Alex says, his voice dull. “You leaving town helped, because I think he thought he won, but he still bruised three ribs. At least nothing broke.”

Michael has to fight to control his powers so everything in the room doesn’t suddenly fly up in a violent rage. He hates himself for leaving. He hates that he didn’t force them to go by the Manes’ residence so they could pick up Alex, but what if Max had said no? What if Isobel had refused? He’s already covering up the murder of three girls, he’s lying to Isobel, and why would they allow him to bring someone with them?

Even if he thinks he loves Alex, why would they? It’s not like Max got to bring Liz, and he and Isobel both know how deep those feelings run.

“What are you going to do now?” Michael asks quietly. His classes are going to start soon, like a beacon of normalcy, but he knows he’d give it up in an instant if Alex asked. He’d say yes to him. He thinks he’d always say yes. 

“I’m supposed to enlist in the next few weeks,” Alex says, sounding hollow. “I haven’t signed the papers yet, but Dad says I have to do something and at least if I do that, I’ll feel like I’m winning some kind of fight.”

“Your Dad’s a piece of shit,” Michael hisses, his hand throbbing in pain at even the mention of the man, like he has some latent power over Michael. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Michael knows exactly what he wants, but the question is whether Alex is willing to take a leap of faith.

“Come here. Come to Albuquerque. Come to UNM with me. We’ll get a place, we’ll work spare jobs, you can major in anything you want and we’ll get you a fake name to protect you, I…”

Michael trails off, willing to beg desperately until his voice is hoarse, but he’s starting to ramble and he needs to slow down. He needs to prove to Alex why this is the better decision and panic’s not going to do it. 

“I want you to be here with me, where you’re safe,” he says. He’s not about to drop an ‘I love you’ on Alex, especially when it might be seen as dirty play, but Michael cares about him a whole hell of a lot more than just about anyone else in the world. “Please, Alex,” he begs. “Come to UNM with me.”

The silence on the other end of the line feels painfully endless, and Michael wonders if he should walk the offer back. No, he decides. He’s not doing that. He lets the offer stand and he fights his own insecurities as he waits for an answer.

“Give me an address. I’ll buy a ticket.”

The relief actually makes Michael dizzy with it and his exhalation releases any lingering tension. 

Two nights later, Michael heads out, telling Max and Isobel that he’s meeting up with a study group to prepare for their course. He grabs his backpack and heads to the bus stop at UNM, sitting on a bench and waiting eagerly for the Greyhound from Roswell to get in. Every few moments, he checks his phone, like he’s nervous that he’ll get a text that Alex has changed his mind and isn’t coming.

He never does get anything from Alex that says he’s bailing. 

Instead, he gets one that reads, _only a few minutes away. can’t wait to see u_.

The bus from Roswell pulls in just as Michael’s tucking the phone away, so anxious that he’s pretty sure that he’s shaking with nerves because Alex is on that bus. Alex is going to be here, with him, and all of a sudden that feeling of something missing has evaporated, replaced by a certainty that Alex is his missing piece. 

Michael stands as soon as he sees the bus parking, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s breathlessly waiting as people start filing off, none of them he recognizes.

Then, five people later, is Alex.

He's gripping a small duffel bag in his hands, his nails varnished and chipping. Michael’s seized by a sudden need to dip tissues in acetone and gently scrape it off, get high on the scent, before fixing up every nail with the blackest of black colors. He steps down onto the ground and away from the bus, his combat boots heavily clunking as he searches the darkness for a familiar face.

The shadows are mostly obscuring his face, but Michael thinks he can see eyeliner on his lids and that his nose is still pierced. He’s in one of his UFO Emporium hoodies, that fits just a little too small and has a few patches sewn onto it, like badges Alex is wearing to show off his loyalty. He hasn’t bothered to patch up the rips on his jeans, his knees peeking out, artful slashes on the inner seams by his thighs that have Michael shifting a little with a need to drag his fingers along the frayed denim and make it worse. 

He's the most gorgeous thing Michael’s ever seen in his life.

“You’re here,” Michael tackles him with a hug that pushes them out of the line of exiting passengers, not asking before he kisses him frantically. He pins him back against the Greyhound bus, hands greedily roaming over every inch of him before pinning Alex’s hips firmly against the vehicle, to the sound of nearby catcalls. Alex drops the duffel to the ground and grabs Michael by the face, hauling him in.

He guesses he’s not in trouble for kissing him without permission, then. 

When Michael eases back, he gets a better look at Alex’s face. The hoodie and the shadows of night cover it decently, but not completely. He’s got a black eye.

“That fucking asshole,” Michael chokes out, furious with rage. “Why did he…?”

“I was going through my things to decide what to pack, and everything was out,” Alex says quietly. “The picture of us together in the desert, with our guitars, it was on top of the desk and he saw it.” Michael closes his eyes tightly, drifting forward to rest his forehead against Alex’s, like he can somehow breathe through the pain, absorbing it from him. “It’s okay,” he vows. “Guerin, it’s okay.”

Weirdly, Michael believes it. 

It is okay, because Alex is here, far away from his father’s fists. Michael ducks in to steal another kiss from him, bending over to pick up the duffel bag, squeezing it with his fingers as he works through his nervous energy. “So uh,” he starts, “I don’t know if you had any plans for where you wanted to stay, but um, I’ve got a bedroom in a townhouse with Max and Isobel Evans, and if you wanted to stay with me, I would…”

He trails off when he notices the way Alex is smiling at him, soft and unsure, but so sweet.

“What?” Michael asks, not used to being stared at like that.

“I figured I was coming here to be with you,” Alex says, scratching the back of his neck as he tugs the hoodie down, which sends his hair into disarray. There’s no product in it and Michael is seized with the urgent and demanding desire to touch it. “Which means staying with you, until I find a place of my own. I want to date,” he says firmly, “but I think maybe let’s hold off on living together. For now.”

“Right. Yeah, for now,” Michael agrees, somehow more awed at the implication that it’ll happen someday than anything else. “My truck’s in the parking lot,” he says, when Alex starts walking away, giving Michael a good look at how tight the jeans he’s wearing are. The hold on the duffel bag tightens a little more as he exhales shakily, following Alex like a lost puppy, in complete disbelief that he’s there. 

This all feels more like a dream than reality. It’s so painfully clear that Michael expects it to go away, because every time he looks at Alex, he thinks he’ll suddenly vanish in a cloud of smoke, like a dream vanishing into wisps. 

That night, Michael gently presses an ice pack to Alex’s black eye as they lie in bed together. They don’t talk much, but they don’t make it past a lazy make out session, like they’re both somewhat scared to do anything more with the specter of Jesse Manes lurking over them. Michael’s fine with that, though, because Alex is here -- Alex is at UNM and he’s here to stay.

They’ve got all the time in the world for everything else. 

The next morning, Michael sneaks them out after he applies concealer to Alex’s face, heading to the registration office so they’re first in line the _minute_ it opens. 

Michael holds Alex’s hand the whole time he enrolls in computer engineering, with a minor in music. They take out loans, knowing that Michael’s scholarship will pay for him but won’t cover Alex’s way, and then pick up part-time jobs – Michael tutoring kids and Alex giving guitar lessons. They get an apartment for Alex using the limited cash Alex has for first and last payments. Alex hands Michael a copy of the key the minute he gets them, with a promise that Michael is allowed to visit anytime, because it’s his home too – or, at least, they both understand it will be, one day.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Alex confesses, when he’s signed up for his courses and they’ve given him a UNM student ID. They’ve made sure that no notifications are going back to Roswell, but Michael does have to wonder _how_ Alex can be here without expecting Jesse to track him down.

“Where does your Dad think you are?” he asks warily.

“He knows I came to school,” Alex admits. “I didn’t exactly run away. I told him that I wanted to get an education before I went into the military, so that I’d be a better officer.”

Michael’s wary on two points. “He bought that?” is the first.

Alex nods, even if he looks unsure.

And here’s the second: “Were you telling the truth? Are you gonna enlist after this?”

Alex shakes his head. “No,” he vows. “No, as soon as I’m done with my undergrad, I’m going to take everything I learn and get us off the grid, so he can’t find us.” 

They’re _free_. 

Michael swears he must be dreaming, because it all seems too good to be true. 

Alex’s apartment is a ten-minute drive from the townhouse he’s sharing with Isobel and Max. He moves in half of his clothes, while the other half stay at the townhouse. Alex gets a key to the basement entrance along with a standing invitation, but Michael quickly finds that he prefers to be at the apartment with Alex.

It's a little weird that Alex doesn’t want Max or Isobel to see him or know that he’s there, but he and Michael are tangled up in a bubble of happiness, which means Michael writes it off. They’re allowed to enjoy this time without other people knowing, and it’s not like no one knows.

They have a steady friend group they hang out with, Maria knows about the relationship when Alex called to give her the update, and Alex will drop by Michael’s study sessions to leave baked goods and kisses to Michael’s cheek. So what if Alex wants to keep this away from Max and Isobel for a while? That just means Michael doesn’t have to share him over awkward dinner parties and weird triple dates. 

Life after that is _good_.

Michael’s the happiest he’s ever been. Under one roof, he’s got his family, and under another, the man he loves. Eventually, most of his clothes make the trip to Alex’s apartment and six months later, they give up the ghost and accept that they’ve moved in together. 

Michael still makes sure to spend time at the house with Max and Isobel, but he’s got Alex and their home always beckoning him away. For the first time in his life, Michael has so much love that he gets to choose where he’s wanted. It’s the happiest he’s ever been and for the first time, he's not waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Maybe his domestic bliss has made him go crazy, but one lazy weekend morning, Michael looks up at Alex from where he’s lying cozied up in Alex’s arms, and thinks, _yeah_ , he could do this for the rest of his life.

And then, it hits him.

They could.

“We should get married.”

Alex laughs from where he’s sprawled on the bed, reading one of Michael’s mystery books. He’s wearing absolutely nothing at all, and the sheets are artfully splayed over him, tangled up from their morning fuck. Michael’s absently stroking Alex’s hipbones, and he’s so in love with him that he doesn’t know how he could imagine a life without him.

They’ve only been at UNM for a year. Some might look at that and say they’ve _only_ been together for a year and that it’s too soon.

Call it alien intuition, but Michael _knows_ what he wants. “Funny,” Alex deadpans.

Michael rolls over and rests his chin on Alex’s hip, feeling half manic and fiercely attached to the idea. “I’m _serious_ , Alex. I wanna marry you,” he says. He’s nineteen, and he knows that he should wait. Should doesn’t mean will. “I know there’s no one else in the world I feel so right with. It’s like our puzzle pieces fit together, and we’re _cosmic_ ,” he says, dreamy and determined. “Let’s go get married.”

Alex isn’t laughing, but he doesn’t seem fully convinced that Michael’s being serious. “We’re nineteen,” he protests.

“Yup,” Michael agrees.

“We’d be _stupid_ to get married at nineteen, we’re not Romeo and Juliet.”

“Nah,” Michael dissuades, kissing Alex’s hipbone as he settles his chin a little lower. “We’re going to have a way happier ending.” 

That’s when Alex seems like he’s ready to take Michael seriously. He puts down his book and stares at him, sliding his fingers into Michael’s haphazard curls. His mouth is open and his brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to work the problem, and it’s adorable. Michael grins as he reaches up, rubbing away a stray bit of eyeliner that he didn’t quite get off from yesterday, pressing his lips together as he rests his hands on Alex’s hip, settling his chin back onto them, waiting for him to get on board.

“If I took your name, I could hide in plain sight with my Dad once I graduate,” he says, “but we couldn’t do it here, not legally.” Alex’s face falls, but he reaches for his laptop to start searching.

Michael lets him tap away as he presses little teasing kisses to Alex’s bare skin by his hip. Alex squirms a little, pushing at Michael’s curls. “Hey,” he mutters, “you’re the one who brought this up, let me search.”

“Can’t help it, you’re too hot,” Michael responds angelically, but he does ease off, because in the grand scheme of things, he’d rather know where they can get married than get Alex hot and bothered and ready for a morning fuck – barely, but that’s the winner.

It takes a few more seconds, but then Alex sets the laptop aside on the nightstand, eyes bright like they get when he solves a problem. “Vermont,” he says, breathing out like he’s in disbelief he’s found an answer. “We’d have to go to Vermont.”

“Great, maple syrup,” Michael quips, and besides that, classes don’t start up again for another few weeks. They’ve got more than enough time for a quick trip. “Let’s call Maria,” he says, because she’d visited last weekend. She wouldn’t mind another trip. “We’ll get a flight to Vermont with our spare cash, go to a courthouse, have her witness, and sign papers. Then, we’ll find rings,” Michael encourages, even though he knows he can’t wear one, with his hand mangled the way it is. “Alex Manes, I wanna marry you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. Don’t you want the same?”

Alex wraps an arm over his eyes like he can somehow hide his fondness for Michael. “That’s dirty play,” he accuses, but rolls onto his side to give Michael a fond smile. “You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Michael laughs loudly and slides his way up Alex’s body, gripping him by the hips to kiss him, flush on the lips as he straddles his soon-to-be-husband. “You buy the plane tickets, I’ll call Maria!” he says excitedly, practically bouncing as he clambers off the bed.

“Michael, what about Max and Isobel?” Alex asks, but he doesn’t sound overly happy about bringing them up. 

Michael’s in the middle of grabbing a duffel bag from the closet, throwing the nicest set of clothes they have in it. The question catches him off guard, maybe because he knows that the question he’s about to ask in turn is going to hurt when he gets the answer. “Do you trust me to tell them that we’re getting married?”

Alex is avoiding his eyes, which means the answer is no.

“Their parents are really established pillars in the community,” he says carefully. “We’re safe now, but in a few years, I have to go off the grid. If I’m there with them and Ann Evans hears me or they accidentally let it slip that I’m here and we’re married…” Alex’s shoulders are rounded, hunched in. “They’re your best friends, though, they’re like your family, Michael.”

They’re more than that, but Michael can’t tell Alex that, not yet. He’s working his way up to it, though, and he vows that it’ll be any day now. “What if I want a new family, with you?”

Alex looks up finally, staring at Michael. He’s fidgeting with his stud earring, the way he always does when he gets nervous, and Michael crosses the room to curl into Alex’s lap, pushing his hand off the ear to settle him. 

“You’re sure?” Alex asks, and from the furrow on his brow, Michael thinks he could talk him into it. It would feel way too much like pushing when Alex isn’t ready, though.

“One day, we’ll tell them,” Michael says, not seeing why they wouldn’t. “Right now, their parents are paying their way and would probably have to explain why they wanna go to Vermont.” He rests his chin on Alex’s shoulder, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Maria will be there, that’s family enough, right?”

“Right,” Alex agrees, sounding a little more buoyed. “…Vermont,” he laughs, and lets Michael tug him to his feet so they can pack, call Maria, and prepare in a hurry while they buy cheap plane tickets and book a motel. 

Once they arrive in Vermont, there’s little sightseeing on the books. After they drop off their things at the quaint motel, they go directly to the courthouse so they don’t have to spend another minute not-married.

The wedding itself isn’t going to go down in any history books as memorable.

Maria makes them wear ridiculous lei-like necklaces made of flowers to make their outfits _special_. Michael’s in a plaid button-down with jeans, and Alex is wearing his UFO Emporium t-shirt over his tight jeans, and when they kiss for the first time as husbands, Michael forgets all about being nineteen and too young, as Maria showers them with flower petals once they hit the steps of the court house. They love each other and that’s all they really need. 

“Alex Guerin,” Michael says thoughtfully after their first kiss as husbands, giving it a whirl.

Alex beams at him, radiant, glowing brighter than anything Michael’s seen in his life, even taking his ship into account. It’s like someone has come along and removed the shackles from Alex’s ankles, setting him free. Michael did that. Michael gave him that. He sobs as he laughs and grabs Alex for their _second_ kiss as a married couple, while Alex foists his haphazard bouquet into Maria’s hands so he can grab at Michael’s ass and haul him in for a deeper kiss. The whole time, Maria secretly takes as many pictures as she can with her Polaroid camera, tucking reams of photos into her bag so they can remember this day.

The future is bright before them, even though Michael’s still got one big secret left in the bag (and a bunch of smaller secrets attached to that one in the ultimate package deal).

Three years later, Michael is ready to shed light on those last dark corners of who he is.

Max has healed his hand and there’s no hiding it from Alex, which means he’s either lying or he’s about to show Alex exactly _what_ he is. He stops on the way back from the townhouse to pick up a bouquet of flowers, clasped in his fully healed hand. 

“Hey!” Alex calls from the kitchen, where something is sizzling. “The steak is almost done. Do you want to start the potatoes so we can…” He trails off when he turns, seeing Michael’s hand. The spatula he’s holding drops to the floor with a clattering sound before Alex covers his gaping mouth with both hands.

That lasts for about a second before he starts pointing at it. 

“Michael,” he says, voice strung, like Michael hasn’t somehow noticed. “Michael, your hand. This morning, it was still damaged, I…” He’s clearly flustered, which is all the more reason for Michael to soothe his unease. 

Michael puts the flowers on the table and comes closer to cup Alex’s cheeks, pinning him against the counter. If tonight is going to end badly, he wants one more kiss before he loses everything. 

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Michael,” Alex grabs the wrist of his left hand with both hands. “I…”

“Yeah,” he says, “so there’s something that we should probably talk about.”

Dinner on the stove goes cold while Michael tells Alex _everything_. 

It's strange, but, “Alex, I’m an alien,” is the easiest part of all of this. Alex’s face belies otherwise, but seeing as he doesn’t know the depths of Michael’s secrets, obviously he thinks that’s the big one to worry about. 

Michael talks about the pods, he shares his frustration in not knowing where they came from, and how he, Max, and Isobel hatched from their pods and wandered into the desert when they were seven. The mercy of a trucker had brought them to Roswell, though Michael’s luck had gone poorly from there.

He tells Alex about the drunks, the angry meth heads, every bad group home he ever stumbled through. He talks about how he learned what acetone did for them because of the angry meth heads shoving it down his throat when they’d caught him sniffing around their lab. Michael recounts the move back to Roswell, the evangelists who tried to exorcise him, and the drifter in the desert. 

Through it all, he’s clutching Alex’s hands with his own, like he’s desperate to keep Alex from running.

He hasn’t budged. Michael’s not sure if it’s because he’s in a state of shock, staring down at Michael’s healed hand. “This all happened before you even got to Roswell High,” Alex says, staring at him with a crushed look, like he’s heartbroken, because they hadn’t even met and Michael’s life had been trauma after tragedy.

Michael has to pray that he’s feeling sympathy for Michael’s lot in life and not because he’s about to leave him.

“The story’s not over, Alex.”

“Before you tell me the rest, tell me how your hand can be healed like that?” Alex insists, brushing his thumb in steady strokes over Michael’s pinky, staring down at it. “It looks like it did when we kissed the first time.” His voice is soft, subdued, and so small, like he can’t believe it. “This should take the weight off you, you’re _healed_. Why do you look so worried?”

The sob in his throat catches him by surprise, but how can he stop himself? “Because once I tell you everything and you know the truth, I don’t know if you’re going to stay.”

Alex tugs at his hands and squeezes. “Try me.”

And so, Michael does. He doesn’t sugar-coat anything. He tells Alex every awful detail, from Max’s powers and Isobel’s ability to influence people’s decisions to his own telekinesis, and then he talks about that night in the desert, the night his hand was broken and what happened after the shed.

He talks about sobbing in the car with the broken hand and how the psychic pain through their bond had somehow been worse, sending him out into the desert to find Isobel and a trail of bodies leading up to her. 

“I still don’t know why she did it,” Michael says quietly, “but those girls were dead when I got there and she had Rosa in her hands like…” He tries to mimic it, to show Alex, but he can’t. “And she didn’t recognize me,” he adds sharply. “Something was wrong with her, and when she came around, she didn’t remember doing it, and so I....”

He inhales sharply. 

“And so, I…”

“What did you do, Michael?” Alex asks, like it’s beginning to dawn on him exactly what Michael is saying.

“Rosa, Kate, and Jasmine are all dead in a cave back in Roswell,” he says, staring at Alex and pleading for a forgiveness that he didn’t know he needed until now. “I told Isobel that I did it, that I killed those girls. She thinks it’s me, and if they ever find them…” He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t think he has to. 

If they ever found them and the evidence trail led them to the aliens, Michael would take the fall for her. It’s Isobel. He loves her, and even though he’s happy and married, he would still let his life disintegrate to ashes for her. He’s not sure how to tell Alex that, and he’s scared to look him in the eye, scared of what he’ll find.

He just told his husband of almost three years that he’s an alien who’s aided and abetted multiple murders. 

The warm hand on his cheek grabs his attention, as much as he tries to fight it and keep looking away. Finally, Alex manages to coax him to look up, and Michael stares at him warily, worried about what he’s about to say. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, like that’s what Alex is waiting for, but Alex’s eyes widen in alarm. 

“Michael, don’t,” he warns. “Look, it’s a lot, what you just said,” he admits and even though Michael can tell he’s trying to be supportive, it doesn’t erase the uneasiness in his posture and on his face. “You’re an _alien_. My husband is an alien. I married an alien.” He nods, like he’s processing that, and he gives a soft, ‘huh’ before he studies him. “You’re also sweet and smart and loyal to the point of stupidity, but you’re not alone. You haven’t been alone since you got here. Whatever happened with Rosa…” he trails off, his voice breaking, and Michael remembers how close they’d all been.

His family took away Alex’s friend. 

“Look, I can’t pretend I know what to think about Isobel doing that, but I love you,” Alex says firmly. “I married you and I made vows that I intend to keep. I do need some time to think about all of this,” he admits, “but I’m not leaving you, and I’m not leaving this marriage, and I’m not about to call the cops on Isobel. It would only hurt you.” 

He drags his thumb over Michael’s knuckles, eliciting a rough shuddering breath from Michael’s lungs. As if that’s not enough, Alex lifts Michael’s healed hand to his lips to press a kiss there, reaching for the pendant on a chain around Michael’s neck, drawing it out and watching as the piece glimmers and shifts, which makes him raise his brow.

“I’m guessing this wasn’t from Things Remembered?”

“It’s a piece from my alien spaceship. I went back to the cave outside Roswell and picked it up after we got married,” Michael finally explains, a little guilty, but he’s still not thinking properly because telling Alex every single nasty secret from his past has got him wildly worked up, on edge, and Alex kissing his hand is only making him weaker than ever for his touch. “If you want to go do your thinking, you should get out of here,” he warns. “Because if you don’t, I’m really, really close to doing something that doesn’t really fit with giving you space and time to think about this.”

Alex looks like he’s in physical pain to drag himself away, but he does. It takes every ounce of Michael’s self-respect not to chase after him, begging him to stay so he can know for sure that Alex is going to stay by his side, even after the _mountains_ of bullshit Michael just piled on him.

It’ll be what it’ll be, but at least Michael isn’t hiding anything from him.

The next night, Michael comes home to find a second guitar case sitting beside Alex’s in their bedroom. 

He doesn’t know why, but it’s the sight of that guitar that makes him realize that everything is going to be okay. The sound he makes is pathetic when he opens the case, sliding his palm over the beautiful instrument. 

“I thought you’d like it.”

Michael glances up from where he’s sitting, feeling a strong sense of déja vu. This time, though, he’s not letting Alex out of his sight without a kiss. 

“I’m pretty sure that after I unload a really vividly traumatic history on you, including confessing to some crimes, I’m the one who’s supposed to buy you a gift.”

Alex sits down beside Michael, watching as Michael pries the guitar from the case, strumming a few chords. That first blissful echo of music fills Michael’s mind and soothes him as he settles, the chaos in his head finally quieting down from the roar of the past day. When Michael opens his eyes, he looks to Alex, but Alex is only paying attention to Michael’s fingers, and he gets why. Michael’s still in disbelief that he has full range of his fingers back, and he thinks that every morning will be a shock and surprise that he does for the rest of his life.

Thank you, Max Evans.

“It’s a lot,” Alex admits, his voice rough. “Like, more than I ever thought we’d have to deal with, but you were trying to help your family. You made a grave after a man attacked Isobel and Max defended her,” he clarifies. “With the girls, I...I don’t know,” he admits and his voice falters. “I trust you, but I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened with Isobel, but even before the whole ‘I’m an alien’ thing, you’ve told me that she’s been seeing someone and she’s stopped blacking out. I think you should tell Liz, though, or…”

“Alex,” Michael cuts him off. “I can’t. If I do, I go to jail.”

Alex exhales shakily, as Michael puts the guitar down. “Right,” he says, clearly conflicted. “I guess then I have to learn to live with that, the way you did,” he admits. “Grieve my friend, and try and understand what could have caused it.” His eyes flicker to Michael’s lower lip, as he drifts in. “I just know I want to do it together, with you.” When he’s inches away, Michael closes his eyes, but the kiss never comes.

He makes a whining noise in protest.

“You’re not gonna block me this time?” Alex whispers, so close his breath is on Michael’s neck.

Michael opens his eyes to give Alex an annoyed look, grabbing at his neck to haul him in for the kind of kiss they should have had in the shed. 

It looks like Michael’s not going to be a divorce statistic after all. He knows that it’s not going to be easy for them, that Alex isn’t going to be able to move past it without some work, but he’s here. He’s in Michael’s arms, and he’s not leaving him. His family under this roof is safe, and so are Max and Isobel.

When it comes to them, Michael doesn’t even realize how much he’s separated his two lives until Alex brings it up, a few years later. 

“Why haven’t you told Isobel and Max about us?” Alex asks one morning, when he’s drawing shapes on Michael’s bare chest. They’re a sweaty post-coital mess, and Michael’s not sure he wants to talk about his siblings right now, when he’d much rather be convincing Alex to go for round four.

He hasn’t even seen them in weeks, because he and Alex live in their apartment, and it’s not like his siblings have that much spare time on their hands. Max is stressing out over his upcoming exams and Isobel’s been cramming nonstop. They haven’t stopped to check on Michael.

“I love them,” Michael says. “And I trust them, but I also don’t.”

They’ve talked about this before.

It only takes one comment on a phone call to Ann Evans and that gossip tree starts to shake until all the secrets fall out. He knows they mean well, but the fewer people in Roswell that know about this, the better. It feels wrong to ask them never to talk about it, either. That’s not even getting into the part where Alex knows a truth that Isobel doesn’t and Michael’s scared that somehow, she’s going to find out because she goes into his brain looking for other information.

Better that they keep the worlds apart. Maria and their friends here in Albuquerque are plenty of support for their marriage, and Isobel and Max are his family.

“We’ve avoided Jesse because we keep a low profile, but we know he’s looking ever since you avoided showing up to enlist,” Michael reminds him, kissing each of Alex’s knuckles with a soft brush of his lips. “He’s dangerous, darling, and we both know it. I want to tell them, but if it’s a choice between keeping you safe and letting them know, I pick you. Every time.”

That’s all well and good, right up until Max gets a job offer.

Then, Michael learns the heart-crushing reality that keeping Alex safe might mean breaking his own heart in the process. 

To keep him safe, Alex needs to stay away from Roswell. 

To keep him safe, Michael picks his family and Alex, so why is he surprised that he doesn’t get to pick his happiness in this equation. He tells himself the same repetitive mantra. It’s only temporary. He’s only there until he’s sure Max and Isobel are okay, then he’ll get back to Alex.

No one can have it all, right?

Only, it turns out that Michael does get it all, and it just takes Alex’s scary competent hacking skills to do it, sending Jesse out of town. Michael really thought that he’d have to wait until he left Roswell to be with Alex again.

Look at his clever, ingenious, perfect husband, proving him wrong.

The evening after Alex drops by the school is the best one Michael’s had since they left Albuquerque. There’s a sense of peace knowing that Alex is back with him to stay, and that whatever they’re going to do, they can do it together now that Jesse is out of the picture.

“Pretty nice apartment,” Alex jokes, but Michael isn’t really in the mood to tease back.

His eyes are soft as he strokes his fingers over Alex’s chest. “I missed you,” Michael says quietly, not wanting to talk about the rented apartment when Alex is _here_.

He and Alex are curled up together in bed, with Alex absently stroking his fingers through Michael’s hair, over his sweaty chest. They’d gone four rounds before their bodies called it quits, and have been catching up on what they’ve each been doing since they parted ways. The afternoon sunlight is beginning to fade, casting amber light into the bedroom as the sun sets.

For Michael, it’s easy to sum it up – a lot of teaching, a lot of drinking, and a whole lot of sulking. He’s ashamed to recount how depressing his life has been over the last little while, but he’s also okay with revealing that, because with Alex here, it means that it’s not going to continue in the same way.

Alex has been far more productive with his time. “Jesse was putting out messages through a ton more channels the moment you got back to town,” he tells him. “He was trying to find me to get a message to me that I needed to keep my eye on you, that you were a monster who was trying to orchestrate the downfall of humanity.”

Michael squints at him, furrowing his brow. “Shit. I burn your omelettes most of the time. I wish I could orchestrate that kind of plot,” he snorts. 

“He wants to keep me away from you, but I wasn’t going to let that happen,” Alex vows. “I moved some things around and created an emergency in Niger that Jesse Manes was specifically requested for. I figure next stop will be somewhere hopefully without reliable plumbing,” he says evenly. 

Michael keeps his palm on Alex’s hip, holding him protectively tight, as suspicion settles into certainty.

“He knows I’m an alien, then.”

“I think so.”

“Which means he knows about Max and Isobel?”

“I’m still digging into whatever files he’s been keeping, but my money is on yes,” Alex says. “That’s my job here in town,” he says. “Once I finally let you out of bed,” he teases. “First stop is a bunker that Jesse’s apparently been seen at frequently. While you put away my things, I’m going to go collect his research.” 

Michael crawls up Alex’s body to kiss him, straddling his body and pressing both hands to his chest. 

“Michael,” Alex warns, even if he’s laughing.

“What?”

“You have to let me up.”

“Nope. I don’t have to, no one said that.”

“Michael!” Alex protests, and flinches when Michael starts tickling his sides, making him flinch and howl with laughter. “I need to…there are papers and files…it’s for your safety. Oh my god, _Guerin_!” he yelps, when Michael’s hand drifts lower.

“Can’t call me Guerin, that’s your name too,” Michael says with the vicious smirk of a man who’s won his case. He does relent, though, because Alex is right. Whatever is out there, they need to know about it, and he’d rather read about it in the comfort of their own home instead of the bunker. He forces himself to roll off Alex, lying on his side and giving him a fond smile. “I’ll make dinner.”

“I’ll be late,” Alex warns.

“I don’t care, I’ll stay up anyway,” Michael promises, leaning over to kiss Alex’s lower lip as he uses his powers to float their clothes back to the bed. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, we’ll have a late dinner, and then you can tell me everything that’s in the files while we’re both naked together in bed.”

Alex tugs on his black sweater, hair disheveled in that sweeping artful way that seems impossible when he’s not even trying. Michael sighs heavily, because his husband is beautiful and irresistible and getting dressed so he can go find evidence of a massive government conspiracy that might be threatening the lives of him and his siblings.

“Don’t pout like that, I’ll be back soon,” Alex teases. “Then we can be naked and go over my father’s conspiracy theories in bed together. Best deal ever,” he says, leaning in and barely brushing his lips against Michael’s, not really giving him the kiss he wants before he ducks away.

Michael groans, but allows him to go with a, “Tease.”

“I’ll call you,” Alex promises, prying on his sneakers after he’s tugged on a pair of loose dark-wash jeans. “See you tonight, Guerin.”

Michael bites his lower lip as he watches him with a sly smirk on his face. “I’ll be doing a lot more than seeing you,” he agrees. “I love you,” he adds. “Be careful, okay?”

Alex leans over to press a kiss to Michael’s rumpled, frizzy curls. “Always,” he vows. “Don’t burn dinner.”

“Never,” he guarantees, and falls back into bed, grinning to himself as he listens to Alex locking up the front door of _their_ apartment. 

It’s home again, and all it took was Alex coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, back to the action and the secrets:
>
>> _“He’s keeping things from us!” she hisses at Max, pulling in to park outside the apartment complex._
>> 
>> _Max has this weird look on his face and he won’t meet her eyes. She’s suspicious and she tries to reach out through her bond to figure out why, but encounters a brick wall of resistance when she does._
>> 
>> _He knows something. What isn’t he telling her?_


	8. Hypnotize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news about Michael’s marriage sends Isobel back to old coping mechanisms. She and Max head over to confront Michael, but it’s cut short by Noah, forcing the pod squad to deal with him sooner than they would have expected.

Isobel is sitting in the driveway of their house in Roswell, but there’s one small problem with that -- she doesn’t remember driving here. She can’t fill in the gaps between the Pony and arriving home, as if she’s zoned out.

She’s fighting through a haze, struggling to feel like she’s in control of her body. 

She has a lead on their serial killer and it’s someone she _knows_ , someone she works with, but even with that in mind, the bombshell that Michael is married somehow feels bigger. 

She and Kyle had parted ways at the Pony with a plan -- Kyle was going to the office to set up cameras to track Noah’s movements, along with a camera outside his home so they could keep track of his habits, and Isobel was going to find out why Michael had lied to her for so many years. She’s glad to see Max’s Jeep outside their house when she shows up, which means he’s not on the night shift and she can get answers to her questions.

Did he know? Did Michael trust him more than her?

Isobel pinches herself, trying to get out of her haze. It’s like the way she used to feel back in high school when she’d get overwhelmed. “Shit,” she hisses, when she sees the time. She doesn’t know how it got so late, almost midnight, but at least it looks like Max is still up from the light on in the bedroom.

She charges inside, calling for Max urgently, waiting in the main room with her hands on her hips. Soon, he stumbles out from his bedroom in his sweatpants and a threadbare long-sleeved shirt, rubbing at his eyes. He’s got a few books in hand, which means he was up reading again, probably waiting for her.

“Iz,” he says, voice heavy with concern. “It’s so late, where were you?”

“Did you know?” is the first thing Isobel demands now that he’s here. She’s _livid_. She’s furious. She wants to know why Michael doesn’t trust them, and if it means that for some reason, he doesn’t love them.

Max glances up from the books he’s putting away, giving her a confused look. “About Noah Bracken? I’ve seen the guy in passing twice,” he says. “I can’t make a judgment one way or the other about whether he’s a serial killer.”

Right. 

The text she’d sent to him because she was waiting to shout and scream about Michael in person. Deep down, she knows that bitching about Michael’s personal life and lack of trust isn’t as big news as Noah potentially being a murderous alien, but it feels so much more personal and painful.

“Did you know that Michael is married?” she demands, seven words that are drawn out, each one hollowing her out.

Max pales, the last book in his hands dropping with a clatter to the hardwood floor. “No, he…” He frowns, shakes his head, but then it looks like something clicks. “…huh. The pendant.” Max wanders back, sinking onto the couch as he stares into the middle distance, almost like he’s forgotten that Isobel is there at all. “He told me that there was someone, before, back in Albuquerque, but that they weren’t here with him.”

“It’s because it’s Alex Manes,” she says, happy to bring someone else in on this level of betrayal. “According to Maria and the marriage records I pulled before I left the Pony, Michael’s been married for almost _eight years_! He owes us an explanation for this.”

Eight years married, who knows how long together, and he didn’t tell them.

She’s furious, and she doesn’t want to let that rage die down. Max gives her a pleading, pitiful look. “It’s past midnight,” he says, like that’s going to stop her. 

It won’t. She grabs his coat and shoves it into his hands, determined to get to Michael’s apartment so she can find out what the hell could have caused him to keep this from them. How could he keep that kind of secret from her? Why would he? 

Max takes the jacket and bends to grab his running shoes, sighing as he gives her a weary look. “You’re driving.”

Isobel is happy to, even if Max protests loudly about her lead foot on the way over. Right now, she doesn’t care, and if the local law stops her, she’ll get Kyle to make it go away. On the drive, Max tries to reason with her, tries to get her to calm down, but she’s not about to let that happen.

“He’s keeping things from us!” she hisses at Max, pulling in to park outside Michael’s apartment complex. 

Max has this weird look on his face and he won’t meet her eyes. That only riles her suspicions, and she tries to reach out through her bond to figure out _why_ , but encounters a brick wall of resistance when she does. 

He knows something. What isn’t he telling her? 

Her rage demands prioritization, and right now, it goes Michael first, and Max second. She locks up the car and charges for the building entrance, letting herself in and storming down the hall to the last unit, which Michael’s been renting since he got back to town. 

“Michael!” Isobel demands, pounding on his apartment door like a jealous ex-girlfriend.

Her urgency clearly works, because Michael opens the door within seconds. The apartment smells like garlic and onions, despite the late hour. There’s a bottle of wine open on the table, and two places set. Isobel casts out a net with her powers, searching for Alex’s presence. 

He’s alone. 

“Incoming,” Max mumbles from behind her, to give Michael fair warning. 

“You asshole,” she accuses as she storms towards him, smacking his upper arm. “I helped you cover up three murders. We’re your family,” she bites out, the betrayal contorting into something uglier and far more painful. “You’re supposed to tell us when you’re in love, or when you have someone you care about, and you’re definitely supposed to tell _me_ and not Maria fucking DeLuca when you get married!” 

Michael is frozen in place, but she’s not done.

“I introduced you to everyone I’ve ever dated, and let you pass judgment,” she continues, trying to burn out all her frustrations and fury at Michael. “Every pathetic boyfriend, you got to comment on, but you never let me into your life! Why not?”

“It’s complicated,” Michael retorts, staring at them like he knows he fucked up, and also that he’s been expecting this. “I should have told you. I know I should have, but it stayed a secret for so long that it was easier to keep it that way, and then, you wanted to move back to Roswell,” he points out, slumping down into one of the kitchen chairs. “The reason we didn’t tell you, the reason we kept it quiet, is because we couldn’t risk Jesse finding out.”

Isobel stares at Michael, but the pieces are starting to come together and she can feel an ache in her chest as they do.

“Alex didn’t move back when we did,” Michael says evenly. “He couldn’t. He couldn’t be in the same town as Jesse, he couldn’t come with me.”

“Is this why you were so depressed?” Max asks, his arms folded over his chest. She can feel Max’s hurt through their bond, but he’s not airing it publicly the way she is, instead choosing to bury it inside of him. Whatever resistance he’d been putting up earlier is gone now, and he’s letting her back in, their connection open once more.

Michael shrugs, staring at the napkin he’s holding in his hands, like he’s trying to downplay whatever he’s about to say.

“It wasn’t exactly easy to be here before Alex got back,” Michael says, scoffing. “But I got it. I knew when we decided to come back, he wasn’t ready to be in the same town as his Dad.”

Isobel has a sinking feeling in her stomach, exchanging a wary look with Max as all the reasons Alex might stay away flicker through her mind. “Michael, did his father hurt him?”

“Every day,” Michael says, sure. He flexes his fingers of the hand that Max healed, and Isobel remembers how it had looked that night in the desert. Her eyes widen with horror, and through the connection, she and Max arrive at the conclusion at the same time. Michael must see it on their faces, because he holds his healed hand up in the air. “Yeah. He hurt me, too.”

“Jesse did that?” Max asks, his voice low. “Michael, where is he? He shouldn’t get away with that.”

“Alex already took care of him,” Michael promises. “It’s why he’s back. He got his old man shipped off to Niger or some other distant country on some bullshit assignment,” he praises. “I wanted to let you heal it earlier, but doing that meant I had to tell Alex what we are. I wanted to be ready for that.”

“But you did let me heal it,” Max says.

The pieces are clicking together rapidly now. “He knows,” says Isobel.

“He has for years,” Michael confirms. “I told him the night you healed my hand. He was a bit shaken up, but uh, the way he says it, it’s that he loves me for me, not my species,” he says, smiling fondly. “We got hitched when we were nineteen, with Maria as the witness during that weekend trip I took. We went up to Vermont.”

He’s pleading with them with a look, like he wants them to understand, and while Isobel gets the need for secrecy, she also despises the fact that he didn’t trust her. 

“I never meant to keep it from you guys as long as I did, but he was paranoid about his Dad and I guess it didn’t take much to make me worry. He didn’t know if you guys would tell your parents or anyone still in town, because he worried Jesse would come after me. He scrubbed every trace of us off the planet as soon as he could after that, because Jesse was expecting him back after school.” Michael flexes his healed hand, and he lets out a fond scoff. “He told his Dad he’d enlist in the military.”

Seeing as Alex definitely didn’t enlist, Isobel can only imagine how furious Jesse had been at being played.

“You’re married,” Isobel says, and she’s still as hurt as before. “Michael, I wish you’d told us.”

Michael’s face is crestfallen and he shakes his head. “I couldn’t,” is all he says.

“It wasn’t only his to tell,” Max says, like he’s suddenly understanding the weight of what keeping the secret meant. He’s pressing his lips together so hard that they’ve vanished, his irritation showing in small ways. “You get one pass, but now that we do know, you better not hide anything else from us.” 

“You mean, like how Jesse knows we’re aliens?” Michael says.

Isobel’s stomach bottoms out from under her. “What? How?”

“Alex is out at Jesse’s bunker trying to get all the evidence he can, but the best we can tell, he’s known for decades. Some bullshit about family legacies, but he’s been keeping tabs on all of us since we got back to town. Alex is pretty sure there’s more to it, but he wants to wait until he has more information to put a theory together.”

Michael frowns as he checks his watch, then glances back to the set dinner table.

“He was supposed to be back a half an hour ago,” he admits. “I guess there’s more in the bunker than he was expecting.”

The hour is wildly late, but who knows how long Alex might be taking to go through old records. 

“We’ll stay with you until he gets back,” Max says, taking the opposite seat. “I think you owe us an introduction to our brother-in-law,” is his sharp, pointed comment.

Michael hangs his head, giving a sheepish laugh as he rubs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I think maybe I fucked up when it comes to both sides. I owed Alex to tell you guys, and I owed you guys to tell you about Alex,” he says, reaching for his phone when a text message alert comes in. “That’s probably him. He gets overly focused and loses time,” he says fondly. “I’m sure he…”

He trails off after he unlocks the phone.

Isobel’s connection with Michael is tenuous, nothing like her bond with Max. Yet, in this moment, an icy tsunami comes rushing over her from Michael that has her clutching at her chest, needing to catch her breath. 

Michael looks up from his phone with alarm, jumping to his feet. “Isobel, what the fuck is going on?”

She shakes her head, not sure what he’s talking about. He’s texting rapidly, frantically, and he keeps working the chain that’s hanging around his neck, while he paces. She’s seen him in a state of panic before, but never like this, and it makes her wonder what the hell is going on. 

“I just got a text from Noah Bracken.”

She feels the blood start to drain from her face. Is Kyle in danger? They were only going to watch him and see if they ought to be worried, but suddenly she has a bad feeling that they’ve dipped their toes in something they weren’t ready for.

“He says he has Alex.”

“Isobel,” Max says warily. “What’s going on? What the hell?”

It’s not supposed to happen like this. They were being _careful_ so they could avoid this. Yet, somehow, Noah’s gotten ahead of them.

“Kyle and I were onto him, he was going to set up some surveillance,” Isobel says, shaking her head as she tries to figure out what it is that could have given them away. She frowns, and then thinks back over the last two days. She swears she’s been locking her office, but then, tonight in the car, there had been that span of lost time. 

Given how stressed she’d been over the revelation of MIchael’s marriage, she’d dismissed it as one of her zoning out moments, but now she’s beginning to wonder if it isn’t like high school all over again and she’d blacked out. 

If Noah is their alien, could he have some sort of power like hers?

Has he been watching this whole time, in the backseat? 

However he’s figured out they’re onto him, he’s got Alex, which means there’ll be no stopping Michael. “What does he want?” Isobel demands. 

“He sent coordinates. He wants us to go there, all three of us, within the hour.” Michael’s already grabbing his jacket, reaching into a drawer for a bottle of acetone. “Let’s go!” he says, when Max is hurrying, but Isobel is still lingering behind, digging out her phone.

She can’t go, not yet. 

“I need to make sure Kyle is okay!” Isobel says frantically.

“Isobel!” Michael snaps. “Alex is in danger!”

“Go with Max!” she tells him, panicking and wondering how Noah could have made them. “I’ll meet you there! Michael, I swear,” she vows, when she sees the sheer panic in his eyes. She grabs at his hand, forcing a connection between them so he understands that she would never put Alex’s life in danger, but that she can’t do the same to Kyle. “I will be there five minutes after you, I need to make sure Kyle is okay.”

Michael shoots her a look of disbelief, but he’s pushing Max out the door, keys in hand, and it leaves Isobel standing in the hall after Michael locks the door with his powers, pacing with her phone, her hand hovering near her lips as her mind works through every possible worst-case scenario. 

Luckily, half of them immediately vanish when Kyle picks up his phone. 

“Kyle,” Isobel says, before he can even say ‘hello’. “Are you okay? Are you fine?”

“What?” He sounds completely fine, if a bit tired. “Isobel, it’s almost one in the morning. What’s going on? Are you…?”

“Noah kidnapped Alex and he’s holding him hostage. Was he there when you put the cameras up? Did he see you?” He sounds fine, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. The only way for Isobel to know that he’s okay would be for her to see him with her own two eyes. “Can you come out to the desert?” She glances towards the door, not sure that Max and Michael will approve of this, but he makes her feel safe. “We could use the backup.”

She could use Kyle, truthfully.

It’s almost one in the morning and this is a big ask. They’re allies and she might even go so far as to call them friends, but more than anything, she wants him there. She _wants_ him. It’s a sudden epiphany that strikes her and deserves some attention, but she doesn’t have time for it. “I’ll text you the coordinates,” she insists. “Please?”

“Of course,” he says, his voice steady. “Do I need to bring backup?”

“Bring a weapon,” she says, because she has no idea what they’re walking into.

If Noah’s really the one behind this, then he’s killed over a dozen people. Maybe bringing a gun to an alien power fight is a bad idea, but it’s the only one she’s got. “I have to start driving,” she says in a panic. She knows that she’s about to lead Kyle down a rabbit hole and once he’s seen the truth, he won’t be able to unsee it (at least, not without some heavy influencing work), but she thinks that it’s time he knew everything.

Alex does. Why not add another name to the list?

“Leave the line open,” Kyle says. “I’m coming, Isobel. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” she says, getting in her car and gripping the steering wheel after she gets the phone set up. She closes her eyes and counts to ten to steady herself, so she doesn’t zone out. She thinks about what her therapist taught her about focusing on her breathing. “Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep talking to me, about anything. Tell me about your stupid workout routine or your cowboy hat or protein powder,” she babbles, as she turns the keys in the ignition. “Please, just talk to me.”

“I knew that someone would eventually give leg day a chance to shine. First,” he says, as she plugs in the coordinates to her GPS and starts driving like a bat out of hell. “I start with the squats, and then there’s a lot of lateral lunges and…”

She lets the steady warmth of Kyle’s voice soothe her and it’s just enough to keep her from the edge. Noah has Alex Manes and she has no idea what she’s walking into. Until she gets there, she’s more than happy to think about Kyle’s glutes and calves, for the distraction they are.

* * *

“Shit!”

Isobel slams on the brakes when she nearly slams right into a rock outcropping, her car barely stopping in time to prevent an accident. She’s rushed out to the coordinates that Michael texted her, but now that she’s here, she has to decide if she’s going to wait for Kyle. They’d disconnected when Isobel got close and she let him go so he could focus on catching up.

He can’t be more than ten minutes behind her, at most, though Isobel thinks she’s extended that gap given how fast she got out here. Isobel makes her decision quickly, grabbing the tire iron from the trunk of the car before venturing towards the cave entrance. 

It’s critical that she gets in there before Kyle to figure out the situation. She creeps inside where she can hear movement, followed by Michael’s voice, filled with panic as he pleads with someone -- and it has to be Noah. 

These aren’t the caves where their pods are, and they’re not the ones where Rosa had her hideout, leaving Isobel in unfamiliar territory. She stumbles inside, keeping a hand on the wall to keep her balance over the mess of rocks on the ground, moving in the direction of echoing voices. 

“Get your hands off him!” Michael shouts desperately.

Isobel hurries inside the last few steps, coming to a stop and letting out a gasp when she sees another pod, but this one fractured and _very much not empty._

Standing in front of it is Noah holding Alex in place, his hand glowing over his heart. Noah doesn’t look like the put-together version of himself from the office, though he’s still wearing his suit. His hair is out of place, he looks desperate, and he’s currently glaring at Michael.

The noise she makes gets Noah’s attention, who smiles eerily, like his plans are falling into place. He drops his hand, the red glow diminishing with his focus on her.

His eyes slide to Isobel. ”Oh, good, you’re all finally here.” His attention goes back to Michael. “No funny business, or your husband dies.” He grabs Alex’s head and wobbles it like Alex is a ragdoll he’s yanking around. “Thanks, by the way, for coming back to town. Until you did, I didn’t have any leverage I could use against these three.”

“Michael,” Alex growls. “Kill him.”

“No,” Michael exhales, eyes wide and scared. 

“You are the smart one,” Noah comments evenly. “At least you understand if I die, he dies.”

Isobel creeps closer, even though Max stops her from getting near with a hand at her shoulder. “Let him go, Noah,” she pleads. “We’ll take down the cameras, we’ll make it so that no one knows that we were looking into you.” One thing’s certain -- they’ve definitely found their killer.

“You shouldn’t have left town, Isobel. I had such plans for us.”

That icy feeling is back in her spine. There’s something about Noah that unnerves her, but also makes her feel oddly comforted, like a familiar presence. It’s like she’s known Noah so much longer than these few months in town, but she can’t explain why.

“I crashed on that same ship as the rest of you, but I wasn’t in first class,” he says with a derisive scoff. “Instead, I had to make do with what I had, and all I had was a broken pod. Fifty years, I stayed in it, my mind savaged, going mad. It was an endless torture, a nightmare that I thought I would never escape, until you saved me, Isobel. That night,” Noah says, gripping Alex tighter as he starts to squirm. “That night in the desert, Isobel. You screamed. You screamed so loudly that you woke me from my deep slumber, you gave me a chance to heal. I crept in, I kept you company until I fully woke on the day you left town,” he says. “We could have been so good, you and me.” 

“What are you talking about?” Max demands, keeping Isobel back when she lunges. Michael lets out a panicked sound when that makes Noah react -- his hand glowing once more, and pressed against Alex’s neck, where it’s begun to burn a handprint against the smooth stretch of his neck.

Alex screams in agony, Michael sobs in panic, but Noah doesn’t even flinch.

He only takes his hand away when it seems like he wants to be able to speak. “Every time that Isobel blacked out, I was there. You let me meet Rosa,” he says, “and I fell in love with her.” He turns, giving the pod a disgusted look. “It’s a shame that she didn’t understand, but we’ll fix that. You’ll help me, won’t you, Max?”

“You were in my head?” Isobel spits out, feeling like there are a thousand bugs crawling all over her skin. “All those years ago, when I lost time, that was you?”

“All those years ago, and tonight,” he confirms. “It’s how I knew you and Deputy Doofus were onto me. It’s how I knew I had a pawn to play with. It’s how I knew I needed to take action,” he says evenly. “I’m not going to be stopped because you wanted to play Nancy Drew with a Hardy Boy.” 

Alex lets out a seething push of air, squirming, clearly frustrated with being held captive. “Michael!” Alex snaps. “Use your powers! Kill him!”

“That’s enough of you,” Noah mutters, floating a heavy rock into his hands and knocking Alex over the back of his head with it, sending Alex crumpling down to the floor of the cave at his feet. Max lets go of Isobel, instantly darting sideways to wrap both arms around Michael to forcibly haul him back from charging Noah.

“You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you!” Michael spits at him, curls flying all over the place as Max struggles to restrain them, causing them both to fall to the ground when Michael fights tooth and nail to get free, unsuccessfully. “I’ll kill you, I’ll…”

Noah doesn’t look threatened at all. His laugh makes Isobel feel a rage build in her like never before. He’s been in her head. He’s been in her head recently and who knows what he’s been doing at her office. He took Alex from Michael and he’s been keeping a dead body in a pod. 

He steps towards Isobel, offering a hand out to her. 

“I need the three of you,” Noah explains as he takes Isobel’s palm into his hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss. She doesn’t move, mostly because she doesn’t think she can, but it’s not trauma keeping her in place.

It’s _fury_.

How dare he touch her? How dare he use her? How _dare_ Noah Bracken think that she’s leverage for his schemes, that she could be used as nothing more than a vessel to stalk a young girl. She’s shaking, her rage building, and she knows that she’s never going to let him in her head again. 

“You’re my leverage, my way out of here. I have to thank you, Isobel. You’re the reason I was able to emerge, and killing those people kept me strong, but now you’re onto me. You and Deputy Valenti, which is unfortunate, because I have been trying to keep people from paying too much attention to me. It will be more difficult to hide the murder of a prominent citizen like him, but he can’t know about me and live.”

Near her, she can feel Max starting to crackle with his own dangerous electricity, but he’s keeping it in check, like he’s concerned. His line of sight is on the pod and Isobel understands. 

He doesn’t want to do anything that could risk the body in the pod. 

“My lovely Rosa,” Noah sighs, catching where Max is looking. “It wasn’t meant to happen the way it did. When I was with you, Isobel, you allowed me to fall in love with her.” He drops her hand, turning to Max. “You’re going to help me heal her.”

“Or what?”

“We’ve gone over this,” Noah shouts, like his patience is reaching critical levels the more that they fight his plan. “You help me heal her, or Alex dies!”

“Max,” Michael exhales, sounding sick with worry. 

“It’s okay. Don’t worry,” Max promises, staying with him. He doesn’t stand, doesn’t move to help Noah, and Isobel knows that they’re only minutes away from Noah losing what’s left of his sanity before he takes that full trip around the bend. “I’ll help,” he vows. “Get her out of the pod.”

He’s buying them time, Isobel can sense it, and with it, an opportunity. 

She glances towards where Michael and Max are still on the ground, covered in dirt from their hard landing, and she knows that there’s no way they can let Noah out of this cave. Kyle is on his way, but arresting him isn’t an option given his powers and what he can do. If he’s been able to slide into Isobel’s mind, who knows what else he’s capable of. 

They can’t let Noah Bracken leave this cave, no matter what they have to do to prevent it from happening -- even if it results in blood on their hands yet again.

She reaches out through her connection to Max, forces both of theirs with Michael open, and she asks whether they’re with her. 

_Always_ , is the steady, confident assurance she gets back. 

Noah’s back is to them as he cradles Rosa’s unmoving body from the pod, laying her out slowly on the ground. 

With his back to them, they move quickly and quietly. Isobel lays the tire iron on the ground, close to Michael, who digs out a bottle of acetone from his jacket pocket to chug from it, handing it to Max so he can drink the rest. Noah knows that Max can help him resurrect Rosa, but what he doesn’t know is how strong Isobel, Michael, and Max are, both individually and together. They’ve spent a decade learning how to use their powers and honing them into something to be proud of, and more than that, they’re here, together.

Noah may never get inside her head again, but that doesn’t mean she intends to stay out of his.

“Now!” she shouts, grabbing Noah with both hands on the side of his head when he turns back to them. Michael helps pin his hands and body in place with his telekinesis, flying the discarded tire iron clean through his upper thigh as Isobel shoves him to his knees. Noah’s painful howl fills the cave as blood spills from the fresh wound, but she doesn’t let that distract her. 

She looms over him, letting Michael hold him down with his powers as she worms her way into his mind, trapping him from escaping back to where he could hurt Alex.

They’re on Isobel’s turf now, and Noah has no idea what he’s up against.

In the hazy pinks of her mindspace, Noah turns to find her, his eyes wide and if she didn’t know better, impressed.

“You’ve been practicing,” he says, sounding overly thrilled in a way that makes her feel sick.

“Practice makes perfect,” she agrees. She graduated near the top of her class, she’s an incredibly talented lawyer, and she’s _no one’s_ empty vessel to be used and discarded. It’s time for Noah Bracken to learn that lesson.

Isobel holds him down in her mind.

Michael keeps him in place in the real world.

And while they both hold him down, Max will finish the job. 

She doesn’t let him go, but she can tell that Max has his hands on him, draining him of his life. Noah’s going grey, staring at her with betrayal. The life is bleeding out of Noah Bracken, who could have been their ally, but he’s dangerous and Isobel needs to protect her family. She has to fight against the drain of Max’s powers, but she only needs to hold on a little longer.

“Don’t you want to know about where we came from? Who we are?” Noah starts pleading, as if he’s finally started to understand that he’s not winning this battle. “There’s so much I could teach you, Isobel.”

“You took my body and my mind from me,” she says. “You killed innocent people.”

“Rosa wasn’t supposed to happen. She was going to run away with me, but Kate and Jasmine found us,” he says. “I had to deal with them. You had to do it for me.” 

It’s an uncomfortable truth, but it’s one that Isobel thinks she’s known for a while. 

Michael didn’t kill those girls. 

She did, and she’s lied to herself for so long, because it never made sense why Michael had done it, but she’d never bothered to think too much about it. It turns out that neither of them did -- that Noah had hitchhiked his way into her body and used it to commit atrocious crimes.

With every second, Noah is losing color. He’s sagging back, defeated, and Isobel feels triumphant and anew. 

“The Alighting is coming, and this won’t stop it,” he warns. “You need me! You think you can deal with Caulfield on your own? You need…” 

“I don’t need you, Noah,” Isobel cuts him off. “This town doesn’t need a deranged killer. It deserves better. Those girls did. Rosa damn well did.” While he struggles for air, Isobel decides that it’s time to make a hasty exit out of his mind. 

Isobel releases him from the mental space, staggering back as Noah collapses on the ground, his dying breaths rattling in his chest. Max’s hands diminish from their red glowing state, and he gives Isobel a steady nod, promising that he’s done the job. 

Michael scrambles towards Alex, yanking off his coat so that he can press it to the back of Alex’s head to staunch the bleeding. He tugs Alex into his lap, looking pale and nauseated. 

Isobel reaches for the discarded bottle of nail polish remover, which has a little left in it. “Michael, do you need…?”

“M’fine, it’s fine. You two did the heavy lifting,” he promises. 

She’s realizing that the reason he looks as ill as he does isn’t because of his powers overwhelming him, but how close he’d come to losing Alex. She drinks the remnants from the bottle, knowing it won’t be enough, but will have to do. Once she puts it away, she moves to Michael’s side, pressing her hand to Alex’s back to help support him, checking on the head wound.

“He’s breathing, Michael,” she promises, turning Alex’s head gently to look at the semi-handprint that Noah had burned into his skin. “It’s okay,” she says, and moves her hand to Michael’s back to rub circles there. “He’s fine, he’s going to be fine.”

“He’s been back in town for _hours_ ,” Michael spits out. “Hours, and then this happens. He should have stayed away, he should have kept away from me, I’m bad for him, I…” He hugs Alex tighter to his chest, rocking back and forth as his distress builds. “I know that and I still don’t want him to go. I need him, I need him with me, and…”

He trails off, his breath hitching with a sob, but before Isobel can try and reassure him, she sees Alex’s eyelids flutter slightly. “Michael,” she says softly, squeezing his shoulder to get him to look down. 

“Fuck. Alex. There you are,” he breathes out with relief, as Alex coughs a little, groaning. “No, don’t move, stay still. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t even know we should’ve been looking out for him and not just your Dad, I’m sorry.”

“...is he dead?” Alex mumbles, his eyeline directly where he can look at Noah’s corpse, in a puddle of blood from the puncture in his thigh.

“Extremely,” Isobel promises, a vicious guarantee in her words. 

“Good,” Alex mutters. “Fucker,” is under his breath, hissing as Michael presses the cloth a little harder against the head wound. “Easy, Michael,” he warns. “I’m fine. It’s just a head wound, they bleed a lot, Max can tell you that.”

Max could, but he’s gone silent, clearly distracted by Rosa’s body. Isobel glances up, realizing that he hasn’t said a word since Noah’s body hit the ground. He looks catatonic, and she wonders if that’s how she looked, all those years ago, when Noah had possessed her.

“Max,” says Isobel, staring at the pod and Rosa’s body lying in front of it. 

It’s bringing back old nightmares that she’s tried so hard to suppress. She’s right back to that night when they were seventeen and Max nearly lost his voice screaming in frustration, unable to bring Rosa back. With her body being preserved and keeping her in the same condition for over nine years, Isobel gets the feeling that she knows what Max is about to try. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Michael warns hoarsely from nearby, where he’s wrapping Alex up in a blanket to keep him warm, like he already knows there’s no point trying to talk Max out of it.

Alex still looks groggy, but then, being knocked out would do that to you.

“I didn’t understand ten years ago,” he says.

She puts out a hand to tell Michael to stay where he is, moving to Max’s side. “I know that you want to do this for her,” she says, not even having to specify the _her_. “I know we left before graduation and you haven’t seen her since then, but think of how complicated it would be.”

Max lifts his gaze and fixes her with a disbelieving look. “If it were you in there,” he says, “I’d want someone to burn the world down just to give you back to me, complicated or not.” He kneels down in the dirt, pressing his palm to Rosa’s chest. Isobel watches him, knowing what he’s going to do.

She’s seen him heal at the hospitals before, but until Max had explained it to her, she didn’t really understand how he could undo such serious traumas.

“I think about it like a doctor,” he’d told her. “I think about the muscles, the blood vessels. I think about each organ and what they’re meant to do. Then, I focus my powers on specific, small things. I heal what needs to be healed.”

The thing is, other than Max’s failed attempt with Rosa all those years ago, he’s never tried to bring someone back from the dead. 

“I’m not going to talk you out of it, am I?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he seems to take her words as permission, drifting closer to Rosa’s side on his knees beside her as he presses glowing hands to her bare skin. Alex murmurs something to Michael, and then Michael uses his powers to move one of the spare blankets lying around the cave towards them, covering the rest of Rosa’s body up, out of respect. 

Max lets out a low frustrated noise, and bears down, closing his eyes as his body starts to shake with effort. It doesn’t usually take this long. He’s struggling, she can tell, and she’s antsy about it, not wanting this to hurt him. “Max,” she pleads, rushing to his side. She pulls at his shoulders, trying to ease him off, but then Michael’s voice cuts into her panic. 

“He can do it, but you need to help.”

He can. Isobel knows he can, but Michael’s right. 

There’s this overwhelming, brimming power that she feels through her veins, like killing Noah had somehow given her more power than ever. This close, connected with Max, she knows he feels it too. Isobel closes her eyes and relents on trying to pull him away, instead focusing on what Max is doing.

She coaxes Max to take the life from Noah that they’d absorbed, turning it into what Rosa needs. She thinks about her heart, of helping it to beat again, of restarting it. She thinks about the power in her veins, power that she gained when they killed Noah, and she lets it go.

It’s all given to Max, flowing through his body. Max lets out one last heart-rending shout that bounces off the cave walls, pouring that energy into Rosa’s body beneath them. The energy pushes through his fingers, a spark delivered through the glowing palms of his hands.

She feels the instant everything changes -- the moment when Rosa’s heart starts beating again. 

Isobel staggers back off Max, collapsing back on the ground. She’s more exhausted than she’s ever been from using her powers. She has no idea how the hell Max is still conscious, after all that. “Max,” Isobel gets out, feeling sick.

“She’s barely breathing and her pulse is weak,” Max says, still fighting to do anything he can. He’s swaying, he looks pale, but he gets his palms in position over Rosa’s heart to start performing CPR, as if healing her hadn’t been _enough_. 

She manages to get to her feet, staggering over to claim the new bottle of acetone Michael is holding out to her, from the inner pocket of his jacket, taking care to leave some for Max. Isobel’s ready to collapse, but noise at the entrance of the cave puts her back on high alert. 

“Isobel!”

_Fuck_. She’d completely forgotten about Kyle. She doesn’t have nearly enough energy to try and keep him out, which means that he sprints right into the thick of it.

“I took a wrong turn and it took me a while before I figured out that…” He stops speaking as he stumbles into a chaotic scene, gaping at what’s around him. “I’m guessing that I’m missing a piece of the puzzle.”

It definitely looks bad. 

Michael’s curled up with Alex whose head is still bleeding and making it look like a murder scene. Max is still in the middle of performing CPR on Rosa and looking half-sick himself, and there’s a cracked alien pod sitting in the middle of the cave. There’s a giant handprint on Rosa’s chest, in the shape of Max’s hand. That’s not even mentioning Noah’s corpse in the middle of the room, the tire iron still sticking through his thigh and sluggishly bleeding.

“What...I…” he stammers. “What the hell…?” he points to the pod, then glances to where Michael and Alex are curled up, with Michael using his powers to float another of the blankets towards them so he can wrap it around Alex’s shoulders. “...What the fuck?”

“Oh come on, Valenti,” Michael quips as he staggers to his feet to help Alex up. “This town airs alien movies every week and you’re telling me you don’t recognize ET when you see him?”

“Michael,” Alex hisses under his breath.

Isobel isn’t ready to joke so easily. For the last few months, Kyle is the person she’s been closest with. She’s eyeing him warily, waiting for him to have a reaction other than shock, and finding herself desperately hoping that he’s still going to be on her side. 

Kyle doesn’t get the opportunity to make a comeback. 

Before he can speak, Rosa sits up with a gasping breath, her eyes wide. Once she’s breathing on her own, Max slumps over, head in his hands, hunched over in exhaustion. She’s alive. Max is alive, if in rough condition, but he _did_ it.

“Someone owes me one hell of an explanation,” Kyle insists.

He probably deserves one, but Isobel’s a little lost on whether she’s going to be able to provide it. Truthfully, she’s still reeling from the last few hours and hoping someone will explain it all to _her_.

“Let’s get out of here,” Isobel says, wandering over to Kyle’s shoulder to gently steer him outside. “Then, we’ll talk.”

“You’re damn right we will.” Kyle looks panicked and lost, but he gravitates towards Rosa to help her up, wrapping the blanket around her as he gives Max an incredulous look, but doesn’t ask anything as he focuses on helping them out of the cave, in the shadow of Michael and Alex, who have already staggered out of there. 

It leaves Isobel and Noah’s body. 

Someone might find it. Someone could even pin it on them. She knows that she’s going to be doing a lot of work to concoct a story that people will believe about why Noah Bracken suddenly went missing, but even with that hill to climb, she feels a relief she hasn’t in years.

He can’t hurt her anymore.

Noah won’t hurt _anyone_ else, and she’s helped make sure of that.

“Good fucking riddance,” she spits, kicking him on the way out. 

She goes, not looking behind her, and decides right then and there that she’s leaving that trauma in the cave with Noah. It’s a chapter in the past and it’s not one she’s looking to reread anytime soon. Out there, her future waits. 

Isobel leaves the past behind in the cave, where it belongs.

* * *

They’re out in the desert again, the three of them. 

This isn’t like when they were seventeen. This time, Kyle’s waiting nearby with Alex and Rosa. They’re both helping Rosa with food and water from his emergency kit. Even from here, Isobel can tell that things are slightly tense between Kyle and Alex, but they have something to focus on and she doesn’t hear bickering, so that’s a good sign. 

This time, there’s no plan to run away brewing, and while they couldn’t undo what happened to Kate and Jasmine, Max has given Rosa a new shot at life, something that he still seems to be in a state of shock about.

“I brought Rosa back from the dead.” 

Michael adjusts the blanket that Max is wrapped up with, staring at him like he’s impressed. “Yeah, Max, you did.” They all look towards the cars, where Rosa is drinking a bottle of water, suspiciously staring back at the aliens. “Fuck, I can’t believe you did. Just wish the other two had been kept in pods, too,” he admits.

Isobel gets it. Then they could have undone all of Noah’s mistakes that had nearly cost them everything. 

“You didn’t kill those girls,” she says quietly.

“Iz,” Michael says in a panic. “Of course I…”

“No, Michael, stop it,” she says sharply. “I know it wasn’t me either. Noah told me that he took my body over. He was in love with Rosa and he used me to get to her.” Isobel knows she sounds sad to admit it, but it all makes sense now. What hurts her is the last decade, where Michael hasn’t only kept a marriage from her, but this, too. “How many other secrets are you keeping from me?” she asks, feeling gutted that it turns out that she doesn’t really know Michael. 

“I was trying to protect you,” Michael protests quietly. 

“You almost threw your life away, Michael,” Isobel says, and it _aches_ to think of him losing that. “What if we hadn’t gone to UNM? What would you have done? Sat here in Roswell and thrown away your potential? You wouldn’t have married Alex, you wouldn’t have your doctorates.”

“You’re my family, Iz,” he pleads. “I love you. It would have been worth it!”

“And I love you, which means I want you to be honest with me. Tell me who you’re marrying, and definitely tell me when you’re covering up a murder for me,” she tries to joke, even if it definitely feels too soon for such a dark crack. It doesn’t patch up the ache within her, either, leaving her feeling useless and somehow an outsider to Michael’s life.

Max is still in shock, not really contributing much to this conversation, but she’s willing to give him all the time he needs after his huge feat.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, sounding pitiful and sincere. “I thought I was doing the right thing, both times. I was defending you, and then I was defending Alex.” 

She can kind of understand, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“You didn’t think I could handle it, and you didn’t trust Max and I to protect the two of you.”

“You shouldn’t have had to. I wanted to protect us, and I did,” he gets out, his shoulders hunched. “I know that I should have brought you both in and I didn’t and I have to live with that, and make it up to you.” He turns to look back towards the cave, clearing his throat. “Back there, that proves that we’re strongest when we’re together.” He reaches for Isobel’s hand and squeezes tightly, hauling Max in to hug them both tightly.

Isobel lets out a shuddering, shaky breath, tears running down her cheeks. She’s so tired and so weary, but they’ve ended tonight better than they could have. 

“I should probably do what I did on the last one, huh?” Michael murmurs. “Cave in?”

Max finally seems to snap back to attention. “Yeah,” he agrees roughly. “We don’t need anyone finding his body next to an alien pod.” 

Michael steps away from them, and instantly Isobel misses his warmth. She makes a small noise of discontent, but Max steps up to the plate, hugging her tightly in his arms, like they’re children again in the group home and they have to defend one another. She buries her face in Max’s neck as Michael strains his powers, hopefully for the last time tonight.

Honestly, she’s hoping they _all_ get a break. Their tanks have got to be running on fumes, at this point. 

The rocks crash down, piling up and making Isobel jump at the noise. The noise, the dust, the violence of it must be like it was that first night, but she can barely remember it. It’s been nearly ten years since it all happened and it’s like a faded echo in her mind, something that Isobel had repressed in order to survive.

Michael returns to them, tugging on the sleeve of Isobel’s sweater to haul himself back into the embrace, like he’s demanding hugs in exchange for the work he’s done. He curls in, and they’re whole once more, their little family out here in the desert.

It can’t last forever. 

Nearby, Kyle is waiting with Rosa and Alex. Michael’s going to go back to his husband, they’ll have to do something about Rosa, and Isobel will have to confront why she’d been so desperate to have Kyle there with her for this. Still, she feels adrift, unsure if that’s what happens next.

“What do we do now?” Isobel asks quietly and she’s not just talking about tonight.

Max sighs, his frustration carrying in that brief breath, and she gets it. It’s like they can’t escape this damned loop, like they keep ending up here, but those murders were Noah’s fault. She saw them, in her head as he was dying, each one of them like he’d been proudly boasting about what he’s done. 

The body count has increased, but this time, Isobel thinks it couldn’t happen to anyone more deserving.

“I think we just live our lives,” Max says. “Do what we came here to do. Work my internship, become a badass lawyer, survive high school,” he says to Michael on the last, with some levity.

It gets a fond snort from Michael. “Come on,” Michael encourages, pulling away from them and patting Max on the back. “Rosa needs a ride home and I’m gonna take Alex to the hospital to get his head looked at, unless you’re feeling like a house call?” Max opens his mouth, but Michael beats him to it, already drifting towards his husband, turning to walk backwards so he can talk to them. “Man, no way, I’m just teasing,” he counters. “You’re all powered out for the night. Just get Rosa back to your place and we’ll make a plan in the morning.”

“Fresh eyes in the morning,” Max agrees, waving Michael away. “Isobel, what about you?”

“I’ll make sure I don’t need to erase Kyle’s memory and get a ride home with him,” she tells them, even though she already knows she’s not going to. She’s going to make sure he’s okay, she’s going to make sure he still cares about her, and she’s going to make sure she’s safe. 

Max pulls her in for a hug before he goes, kissing her cheek. “Behave,” he warns.

“I’m too tired to misbehave,” she protests. “Go. Rest up, so you can be a doctor again tomorrow.”

Max snorts, shaking his head. He’s halfway back to the cars when he stops and turns, like she’s jogged his memory. “Shit,” Max says. “I forgot to tell you,” he says, giving Isobel a strained look, like he hates to add onto the pile. “I looked into your Dr. Holden. There’s never been a doctor of that name in Roswell, and the only one in New Mexico is Rosanna Holden. Whoever this Jane Holden of yours is, she’s not real.” 

“That can’t be possible,” Isobel insists, frowning. “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

She understands why they might fake a doctor for Noah’s victims, but why would her name be on Jim Valenti’s file? What was he involved in? Did Noah kill Jim? 

“Make sense of it tomorrow,” is Max’s advice. “Please try and get some rest.”

“Take your own advice,” Isobel pushes back at him, but with a kiss to Max’s cheek, she sends him off, watching her family go. 

She’s the last one standing. 

Alex and Michael have driven off after Michael showered Alex with a dozen uncomfortable (for Isobel, at least) kisses to his face and cheeks. Max is helping Rosa into Isobel’s car, cautious and trying to give her space while also supporting her, and that leaves Kyle waiting for Isobel beside the driver’s side of his SUV, holding up the keys in his palm. 

“You didn’t abandon me,” she notes. Which is good, because she’s out of luck without a ride back, what with Max taking her car back to town. 

“I think that would’ve been of an overreaction,” he admits. His deputy’s hat is on top of the hood of his car, and he’s covered in dust. “I mean, I guess I kind of understand. We’ve only been working together for a few months. You couldn’t just announce that you were an alien. I might have thought you were crazy.”

“And now?”

Kyle makes a face, like he’s considering it. “I think maybe I’m the crazy one. I just watched Max bring Rosa back from the dead, in the shadow of an alien pod, and a man who murdered over a dozen people was masquerading as a family-friendly lawyer, and now _he’s_ dead and we’re going to cover up his murder. If one more unexpected thing happens, I’ll…”

Isobel surges forward and grabs Kyle by the neck, interrupting him mid-sentence with a kiss.

She eases back, looking at him with a nervous and hopeful lift of her brow. “You’ll what?”

Kyle’s eyes are closed, but he lifts his fingers to his lips, letting them slowly brush over them before he gives a thoughtful humming noise. Finally, he opens his eyes and gives Isobel that sweet, soft smile that she’s been hoping for. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he admits. “I didn’t think it was appropriate, given our working relationship and…”

She presses her finger to his lips. “Kyle?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

She’s nervous as hell that he’s going to do something like turn her down, but Kyle drifts forward like they’re opposing magnetic forces, gently cupping her cheeks with both hands so he can hold her in place and kiss her like no man has before -- soft, yielding, careful, and _tender_. No one’s ever treated Isobel like this and it leaves her whimpering for more.

Her hand is on his forearm and she’s pressing her fingers into his skin in an attempt to keep him from moving, but eventually he drifts back. 

She should be pissed he’s eased back, but the truth is that as much as she wants this, she’s asleep on her feet and won’t be putting out any award-winning performances in kissing tonight. 

“I’m exhausted,” she admits, and Isobel knows she must look it. “Drive me home? Maybe you could even stay the night. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but tonight’s been a little fucking traumatic. I could use a security blanket and you look so secure,” she says, squeezing his bicep as she lets her fingers roam up towards his shoulder. 

“Only sleeping,” Kyle warns. “I’m a gentleman, I don’t put out on the first date.”

“You know that I’ve taken you out at least a dozen times.”

Kyle scoffs, his pride clearly injured. “I paid for half those nights.”

“Right, and I paid for the other half, at least a dozen,” she argues back, but she’s beaming the whole time they bicker, all the way back to his car and on the drive back into town about who owes what, and what constitutes a date.

It’s probably the most normal conversation they’ve had since they struck up their strange alliance, which makes Isobel feel a relief wash over her that leaves her teary-eyed for the weight that comes off her shoulders. 

It’s done. Right? It’s over.

Yet, there’s still the unanswered question – who is Jane Holden, really, and why is the military using an alias on the fake autopsies? What is it, exactly, that they want to cover up aliens for, and how does she get to the bottom of _that_?

Suddenly, an alien serial killer seems _easy_ in comparison. 

Isobel glances to Kyle, who’s in the middle of defending his choice in beer, passionately delivering his speech about craft breweries. Tonight, she decides that she’s done caring. For one night, she deserves to go home with a gorgeous and _good_ guy. 

Tomorrow, their problems can do whatever the hell they want, but they’re not welcome tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And next week, Max will become rather distracted when Liz returns to town:
>
>> _Alex holds the phone out to her, then tugs it back. He’s still looking a little rough, his eyes bloodshot, and there’s a huge goose-egg on the back of his head, but he’s here and he’s helping, while Isobel and Michael make sure that their story about Noah’s vanishing holds water. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says sarcastically as Rosa tries to lean over the table to yank at the phone. “Do you have a credit card? Recent identification? Credit history? It’s going to take me days to build your activity over the last decade, so for now, burner phone.”_
>> 
>> _Rosa makes a displeased face, wrinkling her nose and scowling. “Ugh, you’re such a bitch.”_
>> 
>> _“Takes one to know one,” Alex retorts._


	9. Back For Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Alex help Rosa adjust to her new life, while coping with government conspiracies. Michael hasn’t quite learned his lesson about secrets after Maria gets a chilling visit from Jesse. Liz Ortecho returns to town, much to Max’s delight and dismay.

“Are you busy today?”

Max usually spends his days off going for a run before having breakfast at the Crashdown, where he enjoys a good book over a breakfast plate. Today’s a little different, even if it’s less of a day off and more him taking personal time for “family issues”. Today, there’s no good book to settle into, though his destination is still the Crashdown.

Instead of reading a story, he’s checking on Rosa’s to see if they’re in danger of Arturo not buying it. 

Isobel _knows_ this, so he’s curious why she’s pushing at it all of a sudden. “I’m headed to the Crashdown to make sure Rosa isn’t feeling any weird side effects and to make sure Arturo buys the story.” He can see the way she’s fidgeting with her hair, nervous. “Is this about spending the day with Michael? Iz, just be nice to him,” he pleads.

“What, after he lied?” she snaps.

Max really wants to believe that they can be adults about this. “Yes, after he lied,” he agrees, even if he’s not sure which lie they’re talking about. “He was trying to protect you, he didn’t want you to think that you killed those girls.”

“Okay, as we both know, I didn’t,” she argues, “but I’m still mad about him keeping his marriage to Alex Manes a secret. Why aren’t you?”

It’s a fair question. 

Michael kept it from Max as much as he did from Isobel and by all rights, he should be mad. He should be furious, but he’s not. He keeps waiting for it to hit and it hasn’t yet. Michael kept a huge part of his life from Max and Isobel, but Max gets it. It’s not like he told his siblings about the connection he’d kept up with Liz, and maybe if they’d managed to get it together, he would’ve wanted to keep something to himself.

Or maybe, he just watched Michael lie to Isobel for so many years to protect her from herself and it doesn’t surprise him that he would do the same to protect Alex from his father.

“What’s the point of being mad at him, Isobel?” Max finally admits. “We know about it now, I’m sure you have a complicated plan to make sure he makes up for it and never forgets what he did, and he’s happy. I’m good, knowing that.” 

It definitely fits a lot more pieces into place, and now that he thinks about it, he realizes that there were a few times back in Albuquerque where Max had caught himself thinking he’d seen Alex near the townhouse, writing it off as his mind defaulting to the old familiar.

Turns out, he really had seen him, sneaking around with Michael.

No, not sneaking around.

It’s not sneaking around when Alex had been spending time with his husband.

“Please don’t spend all day yelling at Michael,” Max requests with a pleading look at her, kissing her temple as he pulls her into a hug. “He knows he messed up, and he’ll pay it back, I know he will. Right now, can we focus on making sure all the roads that lead to Noah don’t suddenly lead to us?”

Isobel looks mollified, but agrees with a nod. “Fine,” she finally relents out loud. “Only because you’re right. He’s _definitely_ going to be spending a lot of time making it up to us, and he can start with all the promises he’s made to me over the years and then said he’d do some other time.”

Max has no doubt that Isobel will balance the scales and he’s glad he’s not going to have to play mediator today. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll be at the Crashdown if you need anything.”

“Milkshakes!” she calls after him, on his way out. “And fries!”

Max makes a note in his phone for milkshakes and fries, driving to the Crashdown and ignoring the impulse to text Michael to warn him. It’s been a few days since they brought Rosa back and learned about the secrets Michael’s been keeping and he might not be mad, but he also thinks he might deserve a little of Isobel’s ire without warning. He’s not a saint, after all.

Max enters the Crashdown to find Alex already there with Rosa in a booth, the both of them sharing a plate of pancakes while Alex fiddles with a phone and bickers with Rosa about music, from the sounds of it. 

“Morning,” Max greets them, sitting beside Alex and glancing around, feeling weird about treating this like it’s normal, even though he’s one of the few people who knows it isn’t. Everyone else in Roswell doesn’t think anything strange is going on, just that Rosa Ortecho finally came back to town after she ran away. 

He turns his attention towards Alex, happy to have something to prod at before he dives into before he gives a voice to his worries about Rosa’s reappearance. “How’s your head?”

“I was doing just fine until Rosa implied that The Offspring is somehow better than My Chemical Romance,” he quips, as Max leans back to prod at the goose egg on Alex’s head from Noah’s damage. “Easy,” he warns, when Max starts carding his fingers gently through Alex’s hair to check it. “I don’t go for the tall nerdy types.”

“Just the short ones,” Rosa quips. 

Satisfied that Alex is healing fine (and he’s unsurprised that he’s okay given that Michael has been texting him nonstop over the last week with questions about icing the bump, symptoms, and side effects), Max turns his worrying towards Rosa. 

“How’s everything been going? You know, with…?” He nods towards Arturo, who’s working fiendishly behind the counter, but sparing looks towards Rosa every few seconds.

It’s like he’s expecting her to vanish right before his eyes. 

“He hasn’t questioned the story,” Rosa says, glancing over her shoulder to Arturo, worrying her lower lip with her teeth like she’s worried that could change any minute. 

Two days after Max brought her back from the dead, he and Alex brought her back to the Crashdown, with Rosa hanging her head low and spinning a tale about how she’d run away and understands how irresponsible she’d been in not calling or texting all those years. She’d promised that she’s back, hugging Arturo as tightly as possible, swearing that she’d spent the time getting clean and that she’s not about to give up her fresh start.

She is clean, too, because Max had run a few scans on her and she’s completely clear -- including all the damage she’d done to herself with drugs. Honestly, he’s not sure he’s ever seen a healthier liver. It looks like he did a whole lot more than restart her heart.

“That’s good, right?” Max says, because the most they’d tried to do is age Rosa with makeup, hair, and clothes, trying to make her seem a little more adult. It’s almost a decade of a difference to make up for, but Arturo hadn’t noticed. His doubt never took seed, too eager to see her back to ask questions. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Rosa admits, like she’d almost prefer that he freaked out and _didn’t_ believe it, or maybe it’s that she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, though Max thinks they’re in the clear on that one.

Who would ever believe that she’s been dead and frozen in time in an alien pod in a cave in the desert? It’s so much easier to believe that she ran from Roswell as fast as she could and just never looked back. 

“Almost done over there?” Max checks with Alex, leaning over to watch his progress. 

He's still adjusting to having a brother-in-law, which means that he’s erring on the side of being overly helpful and friendly with Alex, like he’s trying to make up for lost time. 

“I don’t see why I need a burner phone,” Rosa complains as Alex unlocks it for her. “Why can’t I just get a normal cell phone on a regular plan?”

Alex holds the phone out to her, then tugs it back before Rosa can get her hands on it. Despite the bump healing quickly, Alex still looks a little rough around the edges. He’s jumpy, startling every time there’s a sudden clatter in the diner, but he’s here and he’s helping. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says sarcastically as Rosa tries to lean over the table to yank at the phone. “Do you have a credit card? Recent identification? Credit history? It’s going to take me days to build your activity over the last decade, so for now, burner phone.”

Rosa makes a displeased face, wrinkling her nose and scowling. “Ugh, you’re such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” Alex retorts.

Max feels like he’s back in high school. 

“Deal with it,” Alex counters as he finally lets Rosa yank the phone from him so she can unlock it and fiddle with the settings. “In a week, you’ll have a driver’s license that says you’re twenty-nine, and you can do whatever you want, but I need a week,” he warns. “Got it? You need to keep laying low until then.”

Rosa rolls her eyes, but she nods dutifully and gives her a mock-serious face. “Yes, sir, Mr. Manes.”

“It’s not Manes anymore,” Alex says smugly. “It’s Alex Guerin to you.”

Rosa shakes her head. “That’s still so weird,” she admits. “You married the science nerd. I mean, he’s cute, don’t get me wrong, but I thought you wanted someone tortured and who _understood your music_ ,” she mimics Alex’s voice, smirking at him.

Max stays quiet, mainly because he wants to know as much as possible about Alex and Michael’s early courtship, because the most he can remember is prom when Michael had gone to bat for Alex.

“He plays a mean chord,” Alex praises, turning his ring with his thumb as he gives Rosa a dizzy smile, shrugging like he doesn’t know what she’s expecting him to say. “We just connected,” he breathes out the words, “like something cosmic.” He sounds ten miles above the planet now, dreamy and dazed, but he looks happy and Max is suddenly so grateful he came back.

He’s not sure that Michael would’ve stayed, if Alex didn’t join him. 

“Fine, but high school rules apply,” Rosa warns.

“Yeah, fine, no dry humping in front of one another, because it was bad enough when Valenti and Liz did it.” 

That’s an image that Max didn’t need in his head, but it sure as hell is living there now. It doesn’t matter that Valenti promised things between him and Liz are over, that doesn’t change the past.

“Speak of the devil,” Rosa snorts, nodding towards the entrance.

Max turns to see Valenti entering nervously, wringing his hat in his hands. He greets Arturo with an awkward wave before making a beeline for their table. 

“We have a problem,” Valenti announces from the head of their table, glancing over his shoulder like he’s checking to see if he’s been followed. He’s still in his uniform, and he sets his cowboy hat on the table and sits opposite Max and Alex, at Rosa’s side. Whatever happened has clearly spooked him, and seeing as he’s been on duty, that doesn’t bode well. 

Honestly, if Max didn’t know any better, he’d think that Valenti’s seen a ghost.

“Do I want to know why your face looks like that?” Max asks warily, hoping that he’s not about to answer and say that he _has_. 

“Because last night, I filed the missing persons report for Noah Bracken,” he says. “And guess what happened within a few hours of my shift this morning?”

Max has a funny feeling he knows the answer to this one, given what happened with every other suspicious case in Roswell.

“I’m guessing someone from the military showed up and took over,” he says darkly.

“Yeah, not just anyone,” Valenti scoffs, his eyes sliding to Alex. “Flint.” 

“Wait. _What_?” Alex demands, nearly knocking over his glass of water onto Rosa’s new phone in his shock.

“Hey! Watch it!”

That can’t be a coincidence. Max has a bad feeling that whoever is behind the conspiracy put Flint out there on purpose, maybe as bait, or maybe as a warning. It doesn’t make sense otherwise, especially not if they haven’t put a familiar face on it in the last few years.

“What did he say?” Alex demands. “Was my father there? Did Flint say anything about him?”

“He said that he was keeping an extra watchful eye on suspects in town who might stand out on closer inspection,” Valenti says as his brow furrows, like he’s straining to recall the exact words. “I’m pretty sure that was his way of hinting that they had eyes on you three,” he says to Max, apologetically. “It was weird,” he admits, reaching for a fork to dig into the communal plate of pancakes. Mouth full, he keeps talking. “Flint definitely knows about Noah’s genealogy and I think yours, too,” he mumbles, swallowing as Rosa makes a ‘gross’ face. “He made a reference to his special skills and I don’t think he meant with the law.”

“So he’s working with Jesse,” Alex interprets, his gaze stormy. “Not a surprise. That’s Jesse Manes’ MO. He finds something that you care about and he applies pressure until he gets what he wants. I guess Flint’s working with Jesse now on the whole ‘aliens are going to take over the world’ conspiracy front.”

“Does he suspect you?” Max turns on Valenti, starting to feel the panic build and knot in his chest. He needs to know how much danger they’re in, especially if he needs to warn Michael and Isobel.

“I don’t think so, I played along,” Valenti promises. “I followed the story that Isobel’s working with, that the last time anyone saw Noah was at the office. I handed over the files, knowing that we already had copies, and sent him on his way.”

Rosa pries the fork from Valenti’s hand, pulling the plate of pancakes in front of her, laying claim to breakfast as she fiddles with the fork, pointing it at Valenti. “I would’ve thought that you were in deep with this bullshit too,” Rosa says to Valenti, her tone vicious and accusatory. 

Valenti gives her a confused look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Rosa stares at him for a long and deeply uncomfortable moment of silence that Max and Alex don’t dare to step on. “Are you serious? He never told you?” From Valenti’s confused expression, whatever Rosa is talking about clearly isn’t landing. “I’m glad to know that I wasn’t his only dirty secret.”

“Rosa, what are you talking about?” Alex asks her. 

“Jim Valenti and Jesse Manes were thick in some kind of government conspiracy bullshit,” Rosa accuses. “Jim rambled about it when he was showing me his creepy cabin bunker, trying to get me clean. It looked more like a scene from Saw than a gentle respite from the world of drugs,” she complains. 

Okay. Max is officially lost. 

“Why would the sheriff care so much about one teen?” Valenti asks what Max has been thinking, especially since Jim Valenti had never intervened when Isobel had been struggling with her blackouts or even with Michael’s situation, so what made Rosa different? Was it because they’re aliens and they’re the enemy, so they didn’t merit the sheriff’s aid?

Rosa scoffs, shaking her head. “Wow,” she says, sounding genuinely impressed and a little disappointed. “He took such a personal interest in me because he’s my father,” she says, her voice low. “My biological father, not that he gave a shit, up until he started trying to get me clean.” She taps Valenti’s button-down uniform with the fork. “Is it weird, knowing that you used to bone your half-sister’s other sister? Because it should be.”

It’s definitely weird, and it’s clearly a huge bombshell, because none of them seem to have the capacity to speak. Max is honestly still trying to blank all thoughts of Valenti and Liz having sex from his brain, never mind the other revelation.

“What creepy cabin bunker?” Alex finally asks.

“Some old hunting cabin?” She shrugs, pouring syrup heavily over the pancakes. “I had a bus ticket out of town, so I politely declined his creepy offer to stick around and got the hell out of there.” She leans back, syrup still in hand as she tips her head to the side, like she’s considering something. “Though I guess between being murdered by a body-snatching alien and going through detox at my father’s creepy cabin, the latter would’ve been better.”

Alex pushes at Max as he tries to get Max to move and let him out of the booth, gesturing for Valenti. “You think anyone would notice if you took an extra long lunch?”

“I mean,” Valenti says, gaping at Alex as he hurries to his feet. Alex digs some money out of his pockets, leaving the crumpled bills on the table as Valenti stands, looking unsure about what Alex wants to do. “Cameron will give me shit for it, but I can work with that.”

“We should go check out your Dad’s hunting cabin,” Alex says. “If he was in this thing with my Dad, there could be something there. Proof, evidence, _something_ we can use. I’ve seen Jesse’s surveillance in the bunker and he’s got eyes on Max, Isobel, and Michael for sure. The question is, how many other people are involved? If that place has anything in it, we need to get eyes on it before it changes hands. Maybe you should call your lawyer, see who owns it.”

He hasn’t waited for Valenti, heading for the door in the midst of his theorizing.

“You heard the man,” Rosa says, clearly delighting in the way Valenti is struggling to decide if he’s going to take orders from Alex.

“Valenti!” Alex calls sharply.

“I’ll text if I find anything,” Valenti says, and leans over to steal Rosa’s last piece of bacon from her plate, eliciting a furious ‘hey!’ from her, before he hurries after Alex, his belt jangling as he jogs over to catch up.

Max waits until they’re gone to turn back to Rosa, who’s texting someone on her new phone. He should pry about who she’s talking to, but the truth is, there’s way bigger things to care about.

“You’re related to Valenti,” he says, still struggling to wrap his head around that.

Jesse keeping tabs on them? Flint stealing Noah’s case? The government hiding information about aliens? Those are all weird things, but he can kind of understand each of them. The fact that Rosa and Valenti are related, that one’s a little more of a shock. 

“What can I say? I guess my Mom had moments where she had shitty taste in men,” Rosa deadpans, and turns towards the diner counter. “You want churro pancakes? I really want some more churro pancakes,” she says, sliding out of the booth. He opens his mouth to protest that he’s not really hungry, but it’s in vain. 

Max watches Rosa kiss Arturo on the cheek as she slides behind the counter. She’s staring at him with a daughter’s adoration, and Max understands a little more why she didn’t need or want Jim Valenti’s charity. No matter how complicated things can get, Arturo’s the only Dad that Rosa needs. 

He thinks that having lost it all and getting a second chance has thrown that into a sharp spotlight.

“More pancakes on the way,” Rosa says upon her return. Once she slides back into the booth, she keeps her head bowed over her phone as she continues texting, glancing up when the awkward silence between them grows. She seems to take pity on Max, even if there’s an uncertain look in her eyes that reflects in the shrug she gives him. “You don’t have to stay. You brought me back from the dead, that doesn’t mean you need to hang out with me. Unless I’m your only friend,” she jokes. “Which would be super sad. Please tell me you have other friends.”

Honestly, he’s not sure he does. Isobel and Michael probably don’t count because they’re family, which just makes it clearer than ever that he should probably start trying to make friends. 

“How about I stay,” he offers. “And I can fill you in on the town gossip.”

She laughs in his face. “What, you know about that?”

“No,” he admits. “But Michael is really good friends with Maria and she knows all of it,” he says, seeing as owning the Pony has given Maria the best gossip in town. “Which means Michael usually lets it all slip over dinner.”

That seems to do the trick. “Okay, fine,” Rosa allows. “Seeing as I just texted Maria to swing by and reconnect, but she said she’s busy and if she’s not gonna give me the juicy details, I guess you’re an okay substitute in her place.” She leans forward. “Divorces, who had affairs, and the most embarrassing stories. Go.”

This isn’t his skill set, but Max can make it through an awkward dish session given what happened to Rosa all those years ago. 

An alien hitchhiking in Isobel’s body stole ten years of Rosa’s life -- the least he can do is tell her about Ben Allen and Kirsti Lane’s affair and all the other juicy details that have happened in Roswell, care of Maria DeLuca’s intel and Michael’s gleeful tendency to indulge in rumors and gossip.

* * *

It’s been a _hell_ of a day and all Michael wants is to get really stupidly drunk. 

Every time he thinks he’s dealt with the last of it, something else pops up. First, Alex had texted about Noah’s case being taken over, with Flint somehow being behind it. He’s still reeling from learning that Jesse has got active surveillance happening in Roswell that focuses on him, Max, and Isobel.

And, worse than all the others, Isobel is dating Kyle fucking Valenti, which she decided to tell him this morning while they were creating a story to cover up Noah’s murder. 

He knows all those disasters aren’t on the same level, but that last one annoys him the most, because a guy like that doesn’t deserve his sister. It doesn’t matter if he helped them find Noah, deal with him, and is helping to make sure that after he was in the ground, they weren’t accused of the murder. Valenti made Alex’s life a living hell and he’s spent ten years hating the man. 

That doesn’t go away so easily.

With Alex still out figuring out what Flint’s up to, Michael is on his own – because Max is on Rosa duty and Isobel’s with _Valenti_ on some bullshit date. That leaves the old reliable option of getting drunk at the Pony, glad to see it isn’t crowded when he arrives. 

“Maria,” he greets her, relieved to see a familiar face as he settles onto a bar stool. “How about a…”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth, and she cuts him off. “I need to talk to you,” Maria says bluntly. He’s so tired and way too sober, but he bites his tongue to hold back a cutting comment when he sees the look on her face. Whatever’s going on, it’s serious, because Maria doesn’t usually look this freaked out.

“Yeah, of course,” he agrees, deciding that one more thing can’t break the camel’s back at this point. “What is it? Is it about your Mom?”

Maria shifts nervously, nodding towards the back room.

“We shouldn’t talk out here.”

Michael slides off the bar stool reluctantly, staring at the bottles of whiskey that will be so far away, but he can always get a drink off her later, once he’s figured out what’s got her so rattled. He ducks back for the bottle on second thought as he passes the bar, because she looks rattled, he’s feeling off, and they could both use the drink.

When he gets to the back storeroom, Maria is pacing, wringing her hands together. 

“You’re not going to like this,” she warns.

Michael holds up the bottle of whiskey, like he’s promising that he’ll make it through, because he’s got provisions. She gives him a nod, which is all the permission he needs to open it up and take a swig, offering it out to her. Maria grabs it from him, breathing out shakily as she knocks back a shot, then a second in quick succession.

“You good?” he checks, because he knows why he’s so eager to hit the bottle, but she seems to need it twice as much. Whatever happened must be _big_ (and bad).

“Yeah,” Maria promises, setting the bottle down on a shelf beside her. “Once, a few years ago, right after Jim’s death, Mom and I were talking about what happened to him. I thought she was still lucid back then, but then she started talking about _aliens_ and glowing handprints.”

This isn’t what Michael had expected. He thought maybe Mimi had taken a turn for the worse or maybe she’d wandered off and gone missing. He’s not expecting talk of aliens and their handprints.

Michael stares at her, frozen in place, wondering if he needs to call Isobel down here to help erase her memory. He’s still not sure what Jim Valenti’s death has to do with aliens, but the handprint and the fake morgue doctor definitely paint a picture that incriminates someone. Noah, maybe? Maria talking about handprints and Jim adds yet another complication to the pile. What does Mimi have to do with all of this and why is Maria talking about it today?

“Then, Jesse Manes comes to see me today,” she says, with an eerie calm to her tone, like she hasn’t figured out how to react yet. “Said that my mother, his family, and the Valentis were working together. He said that I deserved to know the truth and make my own choice, so that I could follow in my family’s legacy. He said that you were a bad influence on me, and that I had a legacy to follow.” 

Michael frowns, trying to figure out what he should be worried about here. “Valenti’s not involved in any of Jesse’s shady shit,” he guarantees, because Isobel’s been in his head a few times over the past few months in order to see where he stood. If he were planning a long con, she would have seen it. Besides, she’s dating the guy now. Michael really can’t imagine that she’d date someone who wants to bring them down.

Besides that, even with the distance Alex has put in place, he’d kept virtual tabs on things back in Roswell to keep them safe. He’s made comments more than a few times about the fact that there’s been a rift between the Manes and Valentis ever since Jim’s death, and how Michelle Valenti has actively denounced Jesse Manes publicly. 

The other thing here is even harder to swallow. “Your Mom isn’t aligned with Jesse’s shit,” he says, though he knows it’s hopeful thinking. 

He never even thought for a second that Mimi and Jesse could be tight and the idea is _insane_.

“He brought me into a bunker,” Maria says, “and told me about the impending extraterrestrial threat, that there are _aliens_ in our midst. It’s exactly the kind of crazy talk my mother goes on about, but you know Jesse Manes isn’t the kind of man who thinks he’s in the middle of Independence Day. This is _real_ to him, and he’s got video screens of you, Max and Isobel Evans, all these files and surveillance. Max was at the Crashdown this morning, you and Isobel were out downtown and at the police station.”

Michael knows Jesse Manes well enough to know that this is bad news, but the truly terrifying thing is that Jesse had been around to show her this.

“Alex said he sent him away,” Michael says, because it’s the only reason he’d come back to town. “He’s supposed to be in Niger, on a mission.”

“I know,” Maria says darkly. “He had a lot to say about Alex and how you’ve influenced him. Jesse said he didn’t want to see the same thing happen to me. I think he thinks your intentions to me are untoward, Guerin.”

“You don’t believe that shit, do you?” She might be teasing him about his intentions, but he’s paranoid that she believes the rest of it. 

Maria looks hurt that Michael could even imply such a thing. “You’re one of my best friends,” she says. “He thinks you’re not capable of love or compassion, but I know better. I know how much you love Alex and your family. Besides, aliens aren’t real,” she scoffs. “I just never thought Jesse would go so far as to try and break things up between the two of you by trying to frame you with some decades-old insanity! And dragging Max and Isobel into this?”

She shakes her head, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

“I think that you were three unfortunate kids who were found on the side of the road and Jesse Manes is the crazy one here, not my Mom,” she says, but while her words are fierce and strong, she looks scared. “He asked if I was on his side, and I told him I needed time to think about it.” 

She stares at Michael helplessly. 

“Guerin, what do I do?” 

Michael crosses the distance between them, pulling her into a tight embrace, his hand stroking her hair. He doesn’t say anything, his brow furrowed as the guilt starts to build. What the hell is he supposed to do? Jesse’s not telling a lie, that’s the worst part, and if he’s not careful, he’s going to lose his friend and let her wander right down the devil’s driveway.

How does he protect Maria, other than bringing her into the fold?

Maybe that’s what they have to do. 

“Sorry. This isn’t your problem to solve, I know,” Maria says, sniffling slightly as she uses Michael’s collar to dab at the tears on her cheeks. “It’s just...it’s my Mom. He implied that she trusts him, that I should do the same and I don’t know what to do. I know he hurt Alex, I know that he scared you both enough to stay out of town, and I don’t trust him.”

“Good,” Michael spits out. “You shouldn’t.”

“He’s not going to stop asking for my help, though, and I don’t know what’ll happen if I tell him no,” Maria adds, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. Alex is in the middle of some family business, but Jesse’s a way more dangerous in-law,” he admits wryly. “We’ll get Alex to come over and we’ll install a security system here and at your place. Okay?”

While Alex does that, Michael’s going to work on his siblings and see if they can’t bring Maria into this. She’s a sitting duck without all the information, and if Jesse knows about them, really knows, then maybe they could use a double-agent on their side, gathering intel and pretending to help him. It would give Maria a chance to play along with Jesse and keep him from thinking she’s an enemy, but it also runs the risk of putting her in a bad position if he finds out the truth about where her loyalties lie. 

He wishes he had a better idea, but as always when it comes to Jesse Manes, he feels paralyzed, as if he’s seventeen all over and he can’t stop him.

“Okay,” Maria agrees, even if she still sounds rattled. “Tell Alex he gets unlimited drinks if he can make sure I’m safe,” she says, laughing through her tears, trying to take a positive stance despite the bad situation. 

“He’d do it for none,” Michael says, keeping her in the hug. 

“That’s why he’s the best,” Maria agrees, and holds on tightly. “Thanks, Guerin. This is all _insane_ and you’ve already had to deal with too much of Jesse’s bullshit.”

That’s why he has to keep helping, though.

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t stop until everyone’s safe,” he vows. “Come on. You drink and I’ll call Alex and watch the bar until he gets here,” he says, trying to help her back out to the front. “Let me take care of things until we can get you safe.”

“No argument here.”

Now, he’s just gotta make sure he can keep his promise. He has to keep her safe and that means potentially giving her a look behind the curtain at the whole truth and _hoping_ it doesn’t send her running.

* * *

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Rosa scoffs, giving Max a dubious look. “You are? My sister is about to find out that I didn’t run away, but was actually _dead_ and oh, that aliens are real and the guy with a huge crush on her is the one who brought me back to life.”

Valenti had called Max, warning him that Liz was back and had been pulled aside at a ride check on the way into town. Even if Valenti hadn’t called in the warning, Max would have known, because Arturo has spent all afternoon gleefully boasting about how both his daughters are going to be home as of tonight. 

Max has to wonder if Arturo knows about the Jim Valenti sized elephant in the corner of the room, or if that’s the sort of thing he’s ignoring. 

That’s not really his concern. His worry starts and stops with the fact that he’s about to tell Liz the whole truth and he’s terrified. 

It’ll be the first time he sees Liz in a decade and he’s about to drop a few huge bombshells on her, with no real indication about how she’ll react. It’s like being on a roller coaster and not knowing if they completed the track after the drop. 

“Go,” Rosa says, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “And stop freaking out, you’re making me feel sick,” she complains, rubbing at the handprint on her chest where her connection with Max is in its last stages of fading away. 

He takes in a deep breath and forces himself down the stairs, hesitating halfway down as he sits, taking a moment for himself as he pushes his fingers through his hair, the long strands flopping into his eyes as he tries to figure out what to even say. 

“Papi, what did that poor man ever do to you?”

Max hears her before he sees her and he takes a moment to let her voice wash over him. Arturo is playing innocent after interrupting Green’s alien podcast, teasing her, and talking about how she shouldn’t waste time with the customers when she’s got a visitor. 

That’s his cue.

He gets up, taking the last few stairs down to the Crashdown dining area. The moment he rounds the corner, he sees Arturo hugging Liz painfully tight. The minute Max sees her, his heart soars, and he feels like he’s seventeen again. Some stupid part of his brain can’t help wondering if they can pick up where they left off.

Then again, he’s about to tell her that an alien murderer killed her sister using _his_ sister and that Rosa hasn’t just been running away from all of her problems or presumed dead from an overdose – and not only all of that, but that _he’s_ an alien too.

Liz is in the middle of a rant about the ride check being a paltry front for an ICE checkpoint and how Valenti’s a traitor when she turns and sees Max, standing behind the counter. She stops, mid-sentence like she’s been stunned into silence. Arturo gives her a gentle nudge and she stumbles on her feet before she catches herself, crossing the space in the diner to reach him. 

“I got your voicemail,” is the first thing she says, leaning up on her toes to tweak one of the strands of hair falling in Max’s eyes before tucking it back behind his ear, giving him a fond smile. “You didn’t mention that you’d grown your hair out.”

“You didn’t call me back,” Max says, struggling to keep his breathing under control.

He’s not seventeen, he reminds himself. One touch from Liz Ortecho isn’t enough to rob him of his control.

Or so he tells himself. 

“I know,” Liz admits, bowing her head. “I had a...situation that I had to wrap up in Denver before I came home. It wouldn’t have been fair of me to call you before I did.” Max doesn’t know if he’s supposed to ask about what kind of situation she’d been in the middle of, or if she’ll tell him when she’s ready, so he stays quiet and lets Liz have control of the conversation. “I heard you were a doctor now,” she says, eyeing his stance behind the counter warily. “Did medicine fail you that badly, and now you’re serving up Little Green Men shakes?” she teases. He gets it. Most doctors don’t end up hanging out behind the Crashdown counter, but the problem is that he’s so tense, he’s not really in a position to play along.

Given what’s waiting, it’s not exactly the time to flirtatiously tease one another.

“I need you to come upstairs with me, Liz.”

Liz raises both eyebrows, but she looks unnerved and taken aback at his forwardness, her eyes glancing back to Arturo like she’s seeking his permission. He wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks he’s asking her upstairs for something more heated and less what’s _actually_ about to happen.

“Max, what…?”

“Please,” he begs. “There’s something I need to show you.”

He’s run through a hundred different scenarios of how to approach this, but now that he’s in front of her, he finds himself stalling when it comes to how it’s playing out in reality. Part of him wants to reach out and offer his hand, but his nerves stop that from happening. It’s not the only thing -- the mental reminder that Rosa’s still connected to him, at least for another day, means he doesn’t want any feedback through the emotional connection. 

He might want to avoid anything that gets him going, the way Liz has always been able to, and his racing heart (and other interested parts) might not endear him to Rosa.

After all, he wants Rosa on his side if he intends to have a chance with Liz. 

In the end, he decides to lead the way, steadfastly keeping his gaze forward, an Orpheus who won’t fail. 

“Max Evans,” Liz teases. “Are you leading me up to my childhood bedroom? And here I thought you didn’t have any game…”

Max pushes open the door and gives Rosa a nod, watching as she rises to her feet, fidgeting with her hands and tugging her shirt down like she needs something to focus on. 

Liz brushes right past him, tucking her hair behind her ears, still laughing given she thinks she’s teasing Max, “...you should have heard some of the things that Rosa used to say...about…” The _you_ is lost as Liz finally looks up and sees Rosa standing in front of the bed. 

Rosa gives her a sad smile, but she finally lets go of the hem of her t-shirt. “Hey, Liz.”

“Rosa?” Liz doesn’t even wait a second. She almost pushes Max out of the way so she can run for Rosa’s side, grabbing her into her arms to pull her into her arms for a painfully tight embrace. “Oh my god, Rosa. I thought something had happened to you, why didn’t you answer my letters or my calls. Where _were_ you?”

In an instant, Max knows he’s out of place. 

This is their reunion and when Liz is ready, he’s sure that she’ll have questions. Until then, he doesn’t belong here with them. 

Even as he’s leaving, Liz hasn’t been able to do anything but cling to Rosa, sobbing her name in relief, asking where she’s been and if she’s okay. This isn’t a moment for him to intrude on. He closes the door gently behind him so he doesn’t break up the reunion, making his way down the stairs. When he comes around the corner, he sees Arturo tucking away the mop, waving to him as he pulls on his jacket. 

“I’m closing up,” Arturo tells Max, lifting up the keys. “Let Liz know that I went to the Pony to visit Maria.” 

Arturo wants to give Liz time to be with Rosa, Max can tell, and he’s appreciative for it, seeing as if Rosa is being honest upstairs, he suspects there’s going to be one hell of a fallout. Arturo doesn’t need to be around for that, especially when they’re still telling him the sanitized version of this story, where Rosa ran away. 

“Yes, sir,” Max dutifully promises.

Arturo locks up as Max settles into a booth with his book, flipping through his copy of War and Peace to see where he’d left off. 

He loses himself in the words, not paying attention to his surroundings until he hears a crashing sound nearby. Tucking his bookmark to mark his place, Max wanders behind the counter to find Liz digging through some of the cupboards in the kitchen, slamming the doors and cursing in Spanish as she moves. He’s wary about whether she wants to talk to him, so he keeps his distance until she slams her third consecutive cabinet, and Max has the feeling he knows what she’s looking for.

“They moved the booze,” he says, because Michael used to sneak in here when they were teenagers and liberate some of it, so he knows the hiding spots. “They keep it behind the counter now, beside all the napkins.”

Liz storms past him and opens up the half-empty whiskey, not bothering to pour a glass, drinking straight from the bottle. 

“My sister died.”

“Yes,” Max confirms. He hadn’t known if Rosa would tell Liz tonight, but it looks like the secret’s out.

“She didn’t run away, she didn’t abandon us like Mom, she _died_ ,” Liz continues, fraught, her eyes filling with tears. “I blamed her, Max. For _years_ , I blamed her. I ran away too, I hurt my Dad, and you knew the whole time,” she accuses. “You knew,” she gets out, with a sob, wiping at her cheeks. “She said to ask you why you didn’t tell me.”

Max lets his head hang heavily, the weight of the truth on his shoulders knocking him down.

He knows that Rosa is still furious about her lost time. He knows it, and he also can see this for what it is -- some attempt at retribution for his part in it, for being an alien the same as Noah. 

“We didn’t know until recently that it was someone else in Isobel’s body,” he starts, and knows that there’s no way to say any of this without it going badly. “I was protecting my sister.”

“And you let me think that mine abandoned me.”

Max doesn’t ask whether she would’ve rather that Rosa were dead. Even if it’s on the tip of his tongue, he knows how bad an idea that would be. He’s paralyzed in place, watching Liz grab the bottle of whiskey and hug it tight. The tears on her cheeks break his heart, but he knows that she has every right in the world to hate him. She should. If the positions were reversed and it was Isobel instead of Rosa, Max can only imagine the rage that would live inside of him.

An alien stole ten years of Rosa’s life, and for those ten years, he lied to Liz through omission, because it would protect Isobel, the same as Michael had lied to keep Isobel out of it.

“She told me that you brought her back to life, that you weren’t the one who killed her, and that you killed the one did that to her,” Liz says, her voice steady even as more tears cascade down her cheeks. 

He’d do anything to be able to step forward and wipe them away, but he knows that’s not what Liz wants.

“Thank you,” she gets out, her lower lip trembling as she breathes in. “Thank you for bringing her back, but I don’t know if I want to see you right now. I look at you, and all I can see is the man who let me think for ten years that she abandoned me. I could have been mourning her, and instead, I made her a villain in my head, my own sister.”

It hurts. He’s expecting it, and it still stings, like she’s physically slapped him, but he gets it. Honestly, given the truth she’s learned, it’s not even as bad as Max had been expecting. 

“I need some time with Rosa,” Liz keeps speaking, unscrewing the cap of the whiskey for another pull. “Thank you, for bringing her back to us, even if it took this long. Now,” she says, steeling herself as she wipes her cheeks with the sleeves of her jacket. “Please, get out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

Max grabs his book, but he pauses at the door, one last thing on his mind. 

“Look, I’ll go. I will, but I know that Alex and Maria would love to see you at the reunion,” he says, at the doorway. “I’m sorry about Rosa. I tried to heal her that night ten years ago and I couldn’t. I’m just grateful that I got a second chance to give you your sister back.”

He knows that he’d do absolutely anything for Isobel and Michael, which is why he understands her grief and her inability to look him in the eye.

If Max thought that either of them had run off and left him behind, he’d be angry too, and if he found out that someone had actively taken them away, he’s not even sure how he’d feel. 

Liz deserves some space and time. As much as it pains him to do, Max needs to walk away and let her have that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on Wednesday, it's reunion time! 
>
>> _  
> _
>> 
>> He gives her a curt shake of his head. “I don’t want to talk about it until Max gets here.” That’s an admission that he is nervous, which he suspects Isobel is going to call him out on, but she leaves it alone. 
>> 
>> Mostly because she’s in the middle of spiking her punch with a flask of acetone. If he weren’t trying to be level-headed for the talk he’s about to have, he might have begged her to top him off, but as it is, he chugs back the overly sweet punch, his tongue tingling from the sugar, and puts it down on a nearby table.
>> 
>> “If this is some other secret you’ve been keeping for ten years…” she warns.
>> 
>> “Yeah,” Michael quips. “It is. I secretly had a lovechild with Alex and the baby came out green.”
> 
> _  
> _


	10. Break It Down Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion gives the pod squad a chance to dance with their people, and for Max, a second chance with Liz (one of them goes better than the other). The pod squad and Alex bring Maria into the fold, and new information reveals a name that’s been going around lately -- Caulfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a general note - this was all written by the time 2x02 had aired, so there may be deviating points, but seeing as this is a s1 rewrite, we're just going to go down that alternate road. Also, big credit again to Tove and Crystal, my incredible beta readers.

“Well? How’s it feel?” 

Michael’s successfully surprised Isobel, seeing as she startles as soon as he speaks right next to her ear, earning him a heated glare. “How does what feel?” she asks, her brow furrowing as she attempts to make sense of what Michael’s asking.

“How’s it feel to win the reunion?” he teases. He’s picked up glasses of punch for both of them and Max, carefully balancing them in his hands. Max is still on his way, having texted that he’ll be late because he’s having a crisis and can’t figure out which suit jacket to wear. Clearly, even the possibility of Liz’s presence at the reunion has sent him off the deep end. “You’re a successful lawyer who just helped unearth a government conspiracy, got rid of the town serial killer, and I think you’re dating the hot deputy.”

“I thought you hated him,” Isobel says, amused, taking the punch out of Michael’s hand.

“Hey, I can think he was an asshole in high school and still have eyes,” Michael protests. “His abs aren’t bad. Don’t let my husband hear me say that,” he adds quickly afterwards, knowing exactly much trouble he’ll be in for siding with Alex’s high school bully, even if he’s only acknowledging his eight-pack.

“Your husband,” she echoes. “You know you’re still in trouble for that, right?”

Michael does know. Still, it’s out in the open and now everyone knows about the marriage. For the first time in almost a decade, he doesn’t have to hide that part of himself, and he can go around proudly bragging every chance he gets, because he knows he married way out of his league. There’s that old panic, of course, about Jesse Manes, but Michael has his siblings on board and they’re going to figure it out.

Until then, Michael wants to bask in marrying one of the hottest guys in Roswell and the reunion is his chance to rub it in everyone’s faces. 

That is, if Alex ever shows up. If it weren’t for the texts Michael’s getting that tell him that he’s only late because the rental company lost his jacket, he’d be freaking out and thinking that Alex found a new batch of trouble. “How long are you gonna punish me for not telling you?”

Isobel raises her brow as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know,” she coolly replies, “How long did you keep it from us?”

“Touché.” 

He sips his drink, uneasy as he moves his weight from foot to foot, anxious for Max and Alex to arrive so he can make sure all of his people are safe. It’s one thing knowing that you’ve dealt with the alien serial killer, but knowing that Jesse Manes is back in town and hasn’t shown his face is making Michael freak out. He’s out there, somewhere, and who the hell knows what he’s planning?

He really wishes that Alex would let Isobel have a go inside Jesse’s head, but Alex thinks it’s way too risky seeing as they don’t know what kind of alien tech Jesse might have access to from his research.

“If you don’t stop fidgeting, I will break your legs,” Isobel warns under her breath, finishing her drink and reaching for Max’s punch. “Did you even spike this?”

“It’s a reunion, we’re not here to get trashed,” Michael protests.

Isobel gives a little snort. “We clearly have very different opinions on reunions. Why are you so nervous?” 

He gives her a curt shake of his head. “I don’t want to talk about it until Max gets here.” He’s definitely not doing this twice. The lack of protest is also an admission that he is nervous, which he suspects Isobel is going to call him out on, but she leaves it alone. 

Mostly because she’s in the middle of spiking her punch with a flask of acetone. If he weren’t trying to be level-headed for the talk he’s about to have, he might have begged her to top him off, but as it is, he chugs back the overly sweet punch, his tongue tingling from the sugar, and puts it down on a nearby table.

“If this is some other secret you’ve been keeping for ten years…” she warns.

“Yeah,” Michael quips. “It is. I secretly had a lovechild with Alex and the baby came out green.”

She glowers at him, so apparently she didn’t find that funny. 

“Look, there’s Max,” he says when he catches sight of Max at the entrance, scanning the reunion. Michael would love to think it’s them he’s looking for, but ever since Liz Ortecho got back to town, he knows Max has a one-track mind.

Max’s mind isn’t the only part of his body that’s on a singular stubborn track, but Michael’s a mature, married man. He’s not here to be filthy and share that with Isobel. He can save those comments for later, when Alex will be the only one to grimace and proclaim him horrible.

Max waves at them from the entrance and Michael relaxes. Given that Max is willing to give them his full attention, he’s guessing that Liz isn’t there, which means they get temporary priority. “Hey, come on, we need to talk,” Michael insists, pushing at Isobel and steering her in the direction of one of the back rooms while signalling for Max to join them.

She doesn’t resist, even if she looks confused, and grabs Max’s elbow on the way once they pass him, dragging him along in Michael’s wake. 

Once they’re in the blue-lit room where a slideshow is rotating on the screen in front of them, Michael locks the doors carefully behind him, checking to make sure that no one’s lurking and could potentially eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Okay,” Max says warily. “What’s going on? Is there something about Noah we didn’t cover our tracks on? Did something happen?”

“Yeah,” Michael says. “About that…” He runs his hand through his hair, trying to remember Alex’s encouragement. Alex had calmed his nerves, reminding him that he could trust his siblings with this information, and that he needed everyone on the same page. 

Alex had told him that it’s time to start trusting Max and Isobel with the truth and with the details of Michael’s personal life. It’s good advice that he probably should’ve taken years ago, but better late than never.

Michael decides to get right to the point. “I think we need to tell Maria the truth.”

Isobel scoffs, rolling her eyes, and he can see her winding up for a rant.

“Isobel, I know that you don’t get along,” Michael rushes to try and cut off any protest. “Look, Jesse Manes is back in town and he’s got active surveillance on the three of us,” he says. “Alex and I, we were trying to figure out what to do about it, but some scary shit is going on, I think,” he admits. “Jesse’s trying to recruit Maria for some government conspiracy bullshit and given what he’s been telling her, it definitely has to do with aliens.”

“So you want to tell her all about us? Pull back the curtain so she can run to Jesse Manes with our secrets?” Isobel snaps.

“I trust her,” Michael retorts, feeling his anger surge, as he builds to match Isobel’s ire. “Maria kept my secret for a decade.”

“You never even gave us a chance to keep the same one!”

“Guys!” Max shouts, cutting them off before the argument devolves into something petty and much worse than before. “Michael, what do you think Jesse’s trying to do?”

“Nothing good,” Michael guarantees. “And I want Maria on our side. If she finds out we’ve been lying to her, who knows what she’ll do?”

For one, the fact that Jesse’s back at all is a problem. Alex had been sure that he’d fabricated an order to send him away that no one could crack. The fact that he’s back likely means that someone higher up is involved in this or that Jesse is further off the reservation than anyone had suspected. With him back in Roswell, things could go badly for any number of reasons, and Michael’s marriage is on the line.

If Jesse’s in Roswell, he knows that they’re not bound to stay, and Michael’s not ready to leave his siblings yet.

“Look, I trust Maria,” he says again, but he tries to dial back the confrontational tone. “She’s on our side, but she needs to know what she’s involved in. If she doesn’t, _then_ we’re in trouble.” He looks to Max, pleading with a desperate look, like he’s trying to remind him of all the things he’s done over the years for him -- leaving Roswell, letting Max heal his hand, coming _back_ to Roswell.

Max owes him, and if he’s on board, then so is Isobel.

“Tomorrow,” is what Max says, relenting to Michael’s determination. Michael doesn’t keep his attention for very long, what with his eyes fixed across the reunion through the windows of the doors, his attention on where Liz has just walked in. “We’ll tell Maria tomorrow.”

Isobel doesn’t look very happy about it, but Michael can tell the argument’s over because Max is about to leave. He opens his mouth to ask what time they’re meeting, but before he can, Max wanders off towards Liz. Michael gives Isobel a puzzled look. 

“Did I miss something? I thought she was pissed at him.”

“Oh, she is,” Isobel guarantees, leaning up on her toes to see the entrance. She lights up, utterly besotted, and Michael hates realizing that it’s because Valenti’s arrived in his best suit jacket and a pressed pair of slacks. 

He can see the fucking press marks that shows he ironed.

Michael scowls, grateful that he’s not taking Isobel for granted, even if he doesn’t like Valenti any more than he did when they first got back to town. “Go,” he insists. 

“Are you sure?”

“Alex is on his way and I promised him a dance,” Michael says, giving her a light nudge. “Go on, I know you shaved your legs for him.” She lets out an undignified yelping noise, but she’d given up that secret when she’d draped her legs into his lap earlier, while they got ready at her place.

Isobel leans in to cup his cheek, pressing a pink kiss there in the shape of her lips, forcing Michael to wipe it off with a napkin. He heads back into the main room and takes a moment to breathe, center himself, and watch his siblings.

Max is hemming and hawing awkwardly near Liz, scratching a hand through his hair. He looks like he’s asking for a dance, but there’s still three feet between them and Liz doesn’t look ready to let up on putting him through his paces.

If he looks the other way, Valenti’s presenting Isobel with a corsage, even though this isn’t fucking prom, but she lights up as she pushes her hair back to lean down and sniff the flower, letting Kyle affix it to her top. 

Look at them, finding love despite the massive government conspiracy looming over them. 

He digs out his phone to check on Alex’s progress, lighting up when he sees the latest text, timed to less than two minutes ago.

_I’m here, I see you_. 

Michael tucks his phone away and waits, happy to watch Max and Liz, Valenti and Isobel, the both of them finally getting exactly what they deserve -- people who want them, who’ll keep them on their toes, and who can make sure that when Michael is done with Roswell, they’ll be fine without him. 

He knows he can’t go yet, not with Jesse’s machinations at play, but it’s good to know that he’ll be able to take those steps away from his family and choose Alex and their future, once he knows his siblings will be taken care of. 

“Well, hello,” someone says behind him. Michael doesn’t move as he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind. “I heard there’s a doctor of engineering slumming it at his high school reunion,” comes a low murmur right in his ear, soft lips brushing a kiss against the shell of his earlobe. “That sexy genius thing gets me going. Know where I can find him?”

Michael laughs audibly at how fucking awkward and stupid this is, but it’s still working for him. He turns in Alex’s hold to give his husband a smug, amused look. “Does that ever get old for you?” he wonders, because it’s not the first time Alex has done this to him, and Michael knows it won’t be the last.

“Has it gotten old for you?” Alex replies, with the tone of a man who knows he’s on the winning side of an argument.

For a moment, he looks at Alex and drinks in the sight of him. He’s had him for nine years, with a few interruptions, and he knows how stupidly lucky he is. He must start tearing up, because Alex’s eyes suddenly go wide with alarm, and it’s either he’s worried about Michael or a really unflattering picture of him came up on the slideshow.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Michael promises. “Yeah, I’m okay. We agreed that we’re telling Maria tomorrow. I want you there,” he says, and he might not know _how_ he’s going to tell Maria, but he knows having Alex with him will help.

“Of course,” Alex promises, reaching down for Michael’s hand to squeeze, pressing his other palm flush over the pendant resting underneath Michael’s shirt. “She’s not going to tell Jesse anything, but this is the right call.”

“I guess it’s about time I started making those, huh?” Michael jokes, even if his stomach still feels like it’s a pit of despair. He’s worried that it’s ten years too late to tell Maria the truth, especially when she’s been keeping other secrets for him. 

Honestly, maybe it’s time that he stops lying to everyone to try and protect them. It’s only hurt him in the long run.

“Don’t worry,” Alex says, and digs out the pendant to wrap his hand around the shimmering piece of alien spaceship. “We’re going to find out what’s going on with Jesse, we’re going to make sure Maria’s on our side, and then we’re going to _destroy my father_.”

Screw the perfectly fitted suit jacket, Alex’s vindictiveness and determination to do away with his father is the sexiest thing about him.

“Fuck, come on, let’s dance,” Michael insists, dragging Alex to the dance floor. “And keep talking dirty to me.”

“Let me get this straight...”

“You’re not, but okay.”

“Talking about how I want to put my own father in prison gets you going?” When Michael doesn’t reply, Alex turns to look back at him, leading him to the dance floor. Honestly, that’s the kind of question that doesn’t require a response, as far as he’s concerned. Given the endless list of shit that Jesse’s pulled, he shouldn’t have to explain why it does. 

And lucky for him, Alex doesn’t need much more convincing.

“Yeah, okay. I’m in.”

“Great.” Michael beams, and lets Alex pull him along those last few steps to the dance floor. “Let’s rock and roll.”

* * *

Max doesn’t really believe much in fate or destiny, but halfway through his way towards Liz, the music changes to a slow song. Dimly, he realizes that he should have told Michael and Isobel that he’d talk to them after, but his world tonight starts and stops with Liz, especially when she doesn’t look like she’s about to run away from him. 

She’s a vision, even dressed casually in her jeans and the flowing navy blue top she’s wearing, her hair half done up. Her palm has a song lyric on it in black sharpie, and when he gets near her, he lifts it up with an amused snort. 

“Let me guess. Rosa?”

Liz looks at it fondly, shaking her head. “Rosa,” she agrees with a happy glance to her hand.

The words, _she’s living, she’s golden_ are there for the world to see. 

“How are you doing?” Max asks her quietly as he releases her hand, keeping his distance and trying to respect the space that Liz might want. It’s only been days since Liz found out that Rosa’s been dead, but his phone hasn’t exactly been blowing up with texts and calls from Liz, which means that she doesn’t want to talk to him.

Even now, she’s averting her gaze, like she’s not sure she wants to look at him. 

“Are you and Rosa still connected?”

Max is slightly taken aback, because he hadn’t been expecting that question. “Uh, no,” he says, rolling with the punches. “That faded around yesterday. She told you about that?”

“She showed me the mark.”

There’s a long pause after that, with Liz staring at him speculatively, like she’s waiting for him to explain.

Max feels endlessly uncomfortable. Liz has all the pages of this script and Max is left not knowing his lines, but knowing that he doesn’t want to leave the stage. He’s desperate to know what Liz thinks, but more importantly, he wants to know how she feels. “When I heal someone,” he says, pitching his voice lower so they won’t have anyone eavesdropping, “The handprint is the connection that forms between us. For a little while, we could feel one another’s emotions.”

Liz gives him a rueful smile. “That explains some things.”

He’s not sure _what_ , but he’s also scared to ask, when he has a question he’d much rather ask first.

“Can I have this dance?” he asks hopefully, saving his questions about what Rosa’s been saying for later.

She’s trying not to meet his eyes, he can tell, which means that she’s still mad at him. He gets it. Ten years of lying to her, even if only by omission, and ten years of not allowing her to grieve for her sister is a lot to process at once.

“I don’t usually let men who lie to me fill up my dance card.”

“What about men who are hoping to apologize for it?” He’d known this would be a big hill to climb, but Max is more than willing to endure however long it takes to get up there. “Don’t make me dance with Michael,” he jokes, trying to make light of the situation. “He steps on my toes.”

“He looks like his dance card is full,” Liz says, nodding to where Michael is swaying in Alex’s arms, back and forth, not necessarily to the beat. 

He looks happier than Max has ever seen him. It fills him up, like his happiness is a blooming flower in his chest. By the time he looks back at Liz, she’s looking at him differently, as if seeing Max watching Michael has done something to change her mind. 

“One dance. Only because Rosa would kill me if I didn’t,” Liz allows, and holds out her hand.

He gives a dutiful nod, ready to listen to his marching orders. “One dance.” He’s _thrilled_ and he reaches out to take her hand, letting her lead him out where she wants him to go. When they get out to the dance floor, he stands in place awkwardly, because he really hasn’t done this, at all.

Liz swears under her breath in Spanish, grabs one of his hands, then the other, and puts them where she wants them. “You weren’t joking about not taking any dancing lessons, were you?”

“I was busy becoming a doctor and saving lives,” he protests, feeling like that ought to buy him some understanding. “Why’d you stop calling?” Max asks, seeing as there had to have been a reason. He has to believe that. “Did I do something wrong?”

Liz looks askance, like she doesn’t want to look at him for this. 

“No,” she says swiftly, even if she doesn’t follow it up immediately.

Max stays quiet, wanting to give her time to gather her thoughts.

‘The situation in Denver that I had to wrap up?” she says, as she presses her hand a little firmer to Max’s back, gently steering him away from a few couples they’re waltzing towards (if you can even call it waltzing, because Max is trying, but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly inherited any grace). “It was my fiancé. I was engaged. Back then, he was my boyfriend and I thought it was only fair to give him a real chance. That meant I had to let you go.”

“You _were_ engaged,” Max says, seizing on that past tense.

“Right. I was.” She puts the emphasis on the same past tense, and Max feels himself hoping that means something. “I liked Diego. He was a nice guy, but I think that I liked the idea of him more than I actually wanted to be engaged.” She reaches up to ease Max’s chin down, to look at her. “I didn’t have a good reason to say no when he proposed. That’s not the same as wanting to say yes.”

Max keeps his gaze down, fighting every urge to look away, his nerves as high as ever, even if they’re dancing with a suitable distance between them.

“I think I kept comparing him to something else.” Her lips are pursed, her brow furrowed, a conflicted edge in her voice. “Something that I never even had.”

The kiss that never came, the road trip that never existed, and Max’s feeling that Liz was still an ex- _something_. 

“Should I be jealous of that something?” he hears himself asking, full of hope. She’s mad at him, and he knows that, but they’re still dancing and Max can’t help hoping that him bringing Rosa back to life has to count for something. Even with everything as complicated as it is, he has to hope there’s a future for them once the dust settles.

Or maybe he should be thinking about it more like _if_ the dust settles.

“Time will tell,” Liz says, averting her gaze. She makes a puzzled face, clearly bowled over by something she sees. “Is that…?”

Max follows her gaze to where Valenti and Isobel are slow-dancing, with Valenti neatly tucked up against Isobel’s shoulder given that in her heels, she’s got a couple inches on him. 

“From what Isobel tells me, they’re dating,” Max says, which had been great news for him even if Michael hadn’t been happy with it. Liz’s ex-boyfriend moving on to someone else had been great. 

For Michael, Isobel is dating Alex’s former bully. Max gets why it’s a little more complicated (and also, now understands where all of Michael’s irritation about Kyle Valenti came from). 

“She’s happy,” Max says warmly, suffused with sunshine and a happiness that he can’t place whether it belongs to him or to Isobel. “You okay, seeing your ex with my sister?”

Liz looks shocked, blinking rapidly, like she’s trying to figure it out. “I didn’t really think Isobel was his type.” Her mouth is open, but a glance to Max makes her visibly bite her tongue. “The whole ice queen thing in high school, admittedly, would’ve fit better with the quarterback than I did,” she admits.

“Isobel’s changed a lot since high school,” Max guarantees, even if he’s being cautious about speaking too loudly. “Given that for the majority of the time, she was in a blackout state and possessed by our Visitor.” 

“Right,” Liz says, nodding like she has to remind herself that Isobel hadn’t really been _Isobel_ for all those years. “I don’t know if that makes the two of them more or less weird,” she confesses, laughing nervously, her hand tightening at the small of Max’s back where she moves it. 

“If it keeps Isobel happy, I don’t care how weird it gets,” Max admits. “She deserves it.”

He also can’t help loving the part where it takes Valenti out of the way. Now he just has to figure out if Liz’s ex-fiance is worth worrying about. 

The song comes to an end, replaced by something far more upbeat. Max recognizes it, too, and he gives her a grin as Liz reacts _instantly_ , her eyes going wide as she starts to bounce to the beat. “I have to,” she pleads, and turns over her shoulder to where Maria is beckoning her to the dance floor, having finagled Alex out of Michael’s arms somehow. 

There’s no way he could stop this from happening.

“It’s my song,” Liz says, laughing loudly, Counting Crows blasting through the speakers. 

He could never deny her, and so Max gives a nod, sending her off (as if he ever needed to give her permission). He settles back, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his palm over his heart, registering how quickly it’s beating from just dancing with Liz. 

“So,” Michael murmurs from his side, handing Max a glass of punch as he comes to a stop beside him. “Liz Ortecho is still a thing for you, huh?”

It’s been spiked with rum and, truthfully, after that dance, it’s exactly what he needs. Max grimaces slightly as it burns its way down, watching the way Liz is dancing, her face devoid of stress or tension, not a whit of resentment or hate in her eyes as she catches Max watching, laughing as she turns away, hiding that smile behind her hair.

“I always thought that flame still flickered. She give you any hope?”

Max watches her on the dance floor, the joy radiating with every smile, every step, and he knows that he’s got Rosa in his corner. He knows he can’t make it right with one action, but he doesn’t plan on going anywhere for a while and if Liz intends to stick around, then he’ll be there.

“We’ll see,” is what he says, not wanting to get too hopeful only to have it crash and burn.

And yet, when Liz looks across the room to where Max is standing, she waves at him, tucking her hair behind her ears as she stops dancing for a few seconds. It’s long enough for them to meet one another’s gaze, and he exhales softly. 

“Man,” Michael says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re a goner, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t even stay for Max to try a comeback, heading into the fray of the dance floor to tug on Alex’s hands, drawing him out to sway back and forth against the rhythm, even though Alex is laughing gleefully at whatever Michael is saying, his eyes sliding to Max, so they’re definitely talking about him. 

He’s not sure he gives a shit, though. 

Let Michael tease him all he likes. It’s not going to stop him from loving Liz or letting himself have these happy moments.

* * *

“You can change your mind about this, you know?”

Michael grimaces as the little devil on his shoulder makes a new attempt. Michael glares at Isobel in the rearview mirror of Alex’s SUV. He’d insisted on driving, wanting to feel in control of something, but it doesn’t really work when Isobel is back there poking the hornet’s nest and Max is doing that silent thing where he agrees, but doesn’t want to say anything about it. 

“You know, the two of you don’t need to be here for this,” Michael says, slamming the driver door shut behind him as he gets out to face down the flashing neon lights of the Wild Pony sign. “Especially Isobel,” he adds, with a pointed look her way. “I love you, Iz, but you’re kind of…” 

“I was possessed by a murderous asshole alien who used me to get to Rosa, and made Rosa hate me, therefore making Maria hate me too?” Isobel fills in the blank politely, blinking innocently at him.

“She’s got you there,” Alex points out, squeezing his shoulder as he rounds the SUV from the passenger seat to give him that much-needed support. “It’s her secret too, Michael. She deserves to be here to tell her every bit as much as you do.”

“Yeah, well, the Noah thing explains why Maria hates you, but why do you hate her?” Michael snaps. Maria’s been his best friend outside of Alex and his family for the last ten years and Isobel treats her like she’s trash. 

Isobel gives him a look of disbelief. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Yeah!”

“Ignoring the fact that you told her all your romantic secrets and let her be the witness at your wedding, you went to her every time you had a problem, and not me! Not Max!” she snaps. “Also, the Pony is gross, I know you all think it has some earthy charm, but it’s sticky and just really awful, Michael.”

“Tell me what you really think.”

Michael closes his eyes when he hears Maria’s voice, turning to see her bringing out a few trash bags. Her gaze slides between all four of them, confused, and growing a little more wary with every passing moment. “Maria,” Michael says, reaching over to take the garbage from her. “Can we go inside? There’s something we want to talk to you about.”

Maria crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing them warily. She points towards Alex and Michael with two fingers.

“You two, I understand why you’d come visit together. You two visiting and bringing Max and Isobel…?”

“Please, Maria,” Alex says, a hand on her elbow as he tries to coax her in. “We just want to have a drink and talk.” Michael knows that he’s trying to look as normal as possible for whatever cameras might be set up in the immediate area, probably because of Michael’s patterns of being here over the last few months.

Michael takes the trash bags to the dumpster, grateful that when he turns around, they’re all heading inside. He’s quick to join them, hearing Maria’s voice in the middle of her sentence as the door closes behind him.

“....and the fact that any of you can think about drinking after that spiked punch last night is impressive,” she scoffs, but seems to concede that she’s not about to chase them away. “Okay,” Maria says, standing behind the bar and facing down the four of them. “What is it?”

Michael slumps onto a stool like the weight of this conversation has added twenty pounds to his frame, leaning forward on his elbows, hoping to sneak the bottle of whiskey from behind the bar. Maria smacks his wrist to stop him, so that’s not on the table. He settles back, sulking, and doesn’t really know how he wants to approach this.

“Michael,” Alex hisses at him. 

“I’ve never done this with anyone but you!” he protests, and even with Alex, he didn’t really need to say much. His healed hand had done the trick for him and then he’d let the floodgates open to be honest. 

This is way harder.

“We’re here to talk about Jesse,” Michael says, figuring that he might as well dive into it. 

Maria wanders closer and grabs the bottle of whiskey Michael had been making a grab for, pouring drinks for everyone as she eyes them suspiciously. She gestures to Alex and Michael with her ice tongs. “Again, you two, I get,” she says, dropping a singular ice cube into each highball glass. “He’s your monster and monster-in-law,” she quips, continuing down the bar to add the other two ice cubes. “And yet, the Evans twins are here because…”

Isobel looks ready to intervene and pipe up, which means Michael better get to the point before he allows that to happen.

“Because it’s their secret too,” Michael says. “It wouldn’t be fair if I told it to you without them here, especially when we need to know whose side you’re on.”

“Whose side?” Maria echoes incredulously. “Do you hear yourself? In what world would I ever take Jesse’s side?”

Michael hopes that’s true, but she’s playing this game with a deck of cards and doesn’t even realize it’s missing a few. 

“In the same world where he’s not lying to you about anything,” Michael says, staring at the whiskey and restraining himself from knocking it all back in a single go. “He’s not bullshitting you or having a nervous breakdown. When he says that aliens are real, they are. When he tells you that there was a crash in 1947 and that they’ve been here ever since, he’s right.” 

He’s freaking out, even with Alex’s hand on his back to steady him.

“He is lying about me. I’m not here to take over the world. I’m not here to sow discord in humanity,” he spits out viciously. “I think he hated aliens a long time before I fell in love with Alex, but I can’t imagine that helped. I think he blames me for steering Alex away from his grand military destiny, and he’s happy to try and bring my friends into it to pit them against me, because of what I am, because I’m an alien.”

Maria’s frozen in place, so much so that Michael looks down towards Isobel.

“What the fuck?” he hisses at her, leaning in front of Max like he’s going to yank on her hair or something to get her to stop.

“I’m not doing anything!” she snaps right back at him, to the point that Max has to physically separate them before they devolve into a sibling spat. 

“She’s in shock,” Alex says quietly, pushing off his stool so he can hop over the counter, wrapping an arm around Maria’s shoulders to pull her into a half-hug. 

It seems to nudge Maria out of her shock, even if she shakes her head, her palm sliding to her necklace, absently running her thumb over the chain. Michael knows that telling her this is a lot, so he figures it’s time to show her. He gives Max and Isobel a nod, and then settles back to focus on the whiskey bottle, floating it with his mind and tipping it back and forth in the air where she can see the demonstration. 

“Dr. Evans?” Michael prods, when it’s his turn.

Max sighs and looks around before he opens his palm to show off the crackle of controlled electricity he can create when he focuses, energy in a pure little ball. Isobel reaches out for Maria’s hand, tugging it over forcibly when Maria resists a little, even with Alex encouraging her. 

This time, when she goes still, it is because of Isobel. 

Maria gasps a few seconds later, staring at Isobel, Max, and Michael with a somewhat frightened look that has Michael’s heart sinking into his stomach. She whirls on Alex, her eyes wide. “You knew?”

“Michael came home one day with his hand healed,” Alex explains gently, rubbing his hand over her arm. Confusion flickers over her face and Michael gives Alex a nod of permission to allow him to talk about it. “The first time Michael and I were together, my Dad caught us. He was choking me, but when Michael got in the way, he took a hammer to Michael’s hand.”

Maria’s hands fly up to cover her mouth, clearly struck with horror. Michael keeps his attention on her, because it’s better than looking at Max and Isobel to see their reactions, seeing as they never knew the gory details. 

“And to think, that asshole had the gall to say that Michael would elicit unprovoked violence,” Maria says sharply, hissing out the words. “Michael, I’m not on his side.” She gives Alex a fierce look. “I’m not, but…”

Michael lets out a rueful scoff. 

The dreaded _but_.

“You kept this from me for years,” Maria says quietly, staring at him with a confused look. “You’re an alien! You deliberately didn’t let me in on this big piece of your life.”

“I take it back, she can join the club,” Isobel says with approval in her voice, which Michael is choosing to ignore.

The problem is that it isn’t just that they’re aliens, but he has to tell her about the other part of this puzzle, and Michael’s not sure he can, not on his own. “Can you tell her?” he pleads with Max. “The rest, can you please tell her?”

From the way Max seems to wilt, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to, but Michael had barely been responsible for what happened to Rosa and the girls other than being present. It’s only fair that Max and Isobel walk her through what actually happened both that night and a few nights ago.

“Maria,” Max sighs heavily, when it seems like Isobel is stubbornly taking the route of not saying anything. “Rosa’s back. I know she texted you.”

“Right? It’s amazing!” Maria’s happiness is instantaneous, to the point that it hurts Michael to know that they’re going to pierce that bubble within seconds. “Liz has to be so happy, it has to have been, what, ten years since she was back in town?”

“More like, ten years since she was alive,” Max says cautiously. 

Michael’s attention is laser-focused on Maria, watching her expression through the revelation. It means he sees every slight change, every tiny movement. He sees the hope fade into horror, sees the way she blinks as the news hits, her mouth parting, and the way she squeezes her hand around her necklace, like the ache in her chest is almost overwhelming. 

“What do you mean?” Maria asks quietly. “Rosa wasn’t dead, she left town. She left us,” is the denial speaking. 

“Noah Bracken was like us,” Isobel finally speaks. “When we were in high school, I had blackouts and Noah had an ability to weasel his way into my head and control me, like I was his puppet. He fell in love with Rosa, and when he realized that he couldn’t have her, because she didn’t want him, he killed her with my body, and Kate and Jasmine because they were in the way.” 

Michael can see the way Isobel is tense, her body seemingly vibrating with her fury, as if telling this story again is taking every ounce of poise and patience she possesses.

“It turns out that Noah was keeping Rosa sustained in a pod, like the ones we were in for fifty years,” Max says. “We took care of Noah, and I brought Rosa back. She’s back,” he reiterates, but now Maria knows the truth of it. “She’s okay, but she didn’t run away. She’s been here the whole time.” 

Michael hasn’t taken his eyes off Maria, watching her reaction, worried like crazy that she’s going to decide that she’d rather be on Team Jesse, or that she’ll still avoid him, but then decide that she wants nothing to do with Michael. He’s trying to look for any kind of reaction, but what scares him is that he can’t tell what she’s going to do.

“Let’s recap this,” Maria says, stepping out of Alex’s hold, a definitive step outside of his reach. She points her finger at Michael, Isobel, and Max. “You three are aliens with superpowers, and there was a fourth one, who killed girls from our high school. Am I getting this right?”

Michael opens his mouth to add the part about the other murders in town, but pointed looks from both Alex and Isobel shut him up.

“Max Evans, who’s a doctor at the hospital, pulled a Frankenstein and resurrected my friend from the dead.” Maria clears her throat, like she needs to try that one again. “One of my best friends was _dead_ and now she’s alive again because of spooky, creepy alien powers, and meanwhile, another one of my best friends has a father who wants to recruit me for his government conspiracy to bring down aliens, specifically the three of you.”

Once it’s all out there, Maria lets her chin fall to her chest, her brows furrowed like it’s taking a while to sink in. 

“Maria,” Michael pleads. 

“This is a lot,” Maria declares, which is the understatement of the year. “I don’t know what to do with it.” Michael watches her, even as Alex comes back around the bar to stand behind him. “What I said earlier, it still stands. I’d never side with Jesse,” she vows. “The other stuff, I need to think about. You kept this from me for a long time.” 

Usually, Isobel would pipe up right now and make a snarky comment, but she’s quiet. Maybe even she realizes the gravity of the situation.

For Michael, it’s throwing into stark relief that he’s been keeping too many secrets from too many people over the last ten years, and that’s on him. Even without blood directly on his hands, he’s fucked up.

“Yeah,” he admits roughly. “I kept a lot of secrets, huh,” he admits, glancing at Max and Isobel with an apologetic look, before he turns to Alex to see the way his face falls. “That’s on me. It shouldn’t get in the way of you staying safe, though. We’re gonna deal with Jesse,” he promises. “If you can, try and put him off. We’ll make sure it’s safe in Roswell for all of us.”

Maria nods, but she still looks conflicted.

“I’ll see what I can do to put him off, maybe get some more information.”

“Maria, only if it’s safe,” Alex insists, sounding panicked. “You don’t know my Dad, he’s dangerous.”

“Only if it’s safe,” she vows. “But for now, I want you all out,” she says. She locks her gaze with Michael and even though her lower lip is trembling slightly, there’s no wariness in her demand. “I need time to think and I need to do that alone, so...get out. All of you. Now,” is sharper than before, some of Maria’s anger slipping through. 

“We respect that,” Max promises, even though Michael’s frozen in place, feeling like he’s watching his friendship vanish before his eyes.

He wants to argue, he wants to fight, he wants to beg that she understand why he had to do what he did, but he feels Max prying at his arm. 

“Michael, come on,” he says quietly. 

“I’ll text you later, okay?” Alex tells Maria, and wraps an arm around Michael’s waist when Max’s attempts don’t get him to budge. Michael allows himself to move for Alex, mainly because he’s in shock and his auto-pilot means that Alex is the only one who’ll be able to get him to go. 

It feels all kinds of wrong to be moving towards the exit with things left feeling so unresolved, but he follows Max and Isobel out, letting Alex guide him when every instinct within him tells him to stay and fight harder. He flinches once they’re outside, the sunlight a huge counterpoint from the darkness of the Pony. 

“Well, that … went,” Isobel quips, once the Wild Pony door has been slammed shut behind them.

Michael knows that it could’ve gone a lot worse. He didn’t get tazed, she didn’t drop everything and call Jesse Manes, but he can’t help feeling like he could have avoided all this trouble if he’d been honest in the first place.

“Hey,” Alex says quietly, getting Michael’s attention before he lets himself fall victim to that negative thought spiral. “Let’s give her some time. We still have to figure out what to do about Jesse, and it’s Maria. She’ll come around,” he promises, reaching out to take Michael’s hands into his own, tugging him towards him for a slow kiss.

It’s the sort of sweet and tender reassurance that keeps Michael steady. 

“I need to stop keeping secrets from the people I love, don’t I?” Michael asks him quietly, watching as Max and Isobel get back in the SUV, trying their best to pretend like they’re not eavesdropping.

They’re doing a shitty job about it, but Michael will give them hell later.

“I think maybe it’s gonna take longer to unwrite your instincts than a day,” Alex says with another kiss, ruffling Michaels’s curls. “Lucky for us, we’ve got plenty of time ahead of us to figure that out, _after_ we learn why Jesse thinks you’re going to destroy the world and all humanity in the process. Deal?”

Yeah, that is a lot more pressing, isn’t it?

“Deal,” he allows.

Right now, Michael needs to worry a whole lot more about his in-laws than he does his friends. He’ll circle back to that whole ‘lying to protect people’ thing later. 

Hell, maybe Isobel can even refer him to a good therapist.

* * *

“Move,” Valenti demands, arriving at their booth inside the Crashdown with a pile of folders in his hands. 

It must be the latest discovery from the cabin, which apparently lived up to the ‘creepy Saw bunker’ aesthetic as Rosa had advertised. It also had some keys, which led to a bunch of encrypted files at the sheriff’s office.

Lucky for them, the deputy has easy access.

Michael makes a face, grumbling as he picks up his basket of fries, shifting into the corner and letting his legs fall open, tugging Alex back into them to make room for Valenti. Then, he doesn’t even bother sitting there, heading around the booth to sit beside Rosa. 

Alex doesn’t look wholly pleased to see Valenti there, which he’s not surprised about. 

For all that Isobel is willing to go to bat for him, he was still an ass in high school, and it’s not like Valenti’s come around with an apology yet. After their initial bunker trip, Michael spent almost thirty minutes listening to Alex rant about how Valenti kept trying to act like they were still friends and nothing had changed.

His continued presence in their investigation is expected, but Michael wishes that Valenti would just fucking _apologize_ so he doesn’t have to hear, “and another thing!” every night when he’s trying to go to bed.

Until that apology comes, Alex can go on hating Valenti until the cows come home in Michael’s opinion. Still, knowing that he’s in for another icy rant makes him long for drinks at the Pony, but Maria had decided that she deserved a day out in the desert getting ‘stoned to high heaven’ now that she knows the truth. 

Given that it’s only been a day since they told her, Michael feels like he owes her that much, especially since she hasn’t decided yet if she actually wants to talk to him. 

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Michael asks sarcastically.

“I found something in my Dad’s notes,” he says, “but I don’t understand it. I think it’s in code?” 

“Give me that,” Alex coaxes, wiping his hands on the nearest napkin and reaching out for the files.

Valenti holds onto the papers protectively, staring at Alex like he doesn’t trust him. Michael groans, because if this is how they’re going to figure out what Jesse’s up to, it’s going to be like pulling teeth. He shoots a look across the table to Rosa, looking for help, but she’s clearly not willing to get involved. 

“Seriously, Valenti, give him the files,” Michael insists. “Alex went to school for cryptography, he’s broken into more government databases than you can even imagine during his consulting gigs,” he says, proud as anything, rubbing a hand over Alex’s back.

The scrape of the chair nearby grabs Michael’s attention, Liz coming to join them. 

“Great,” Rosa deadpans, tugging her hoodie up over her head as she curls into the corner. “I guess all of alien club meets here now.” 

Michael gets it -- their chance at a quiet lunch is definitely gone now.

Valenti hands over the files to Alex warily, while Michael eyes Liz curiously, wondering if he should prod about the Max Evans elephant in the room, especially when said alien elephant is on his shift at the hospital and can’t defend himself. 

Liz doesn’t even give him a chance, leaning in to grab some of the files herself.

“What did you find?” Liz asks. “Is it related to Dr. Holden?”

Michael squints at her, curious how she knows that they were even looking for something, but it’s not difficult to guess why. “Max told you?”

“He wanted to get my eyes on the autopsy reports,” Liz confirms with a steady nod, “but Rosa told me the whole truth,” she says, giving Michael a challenging stare, as if she’s expecting him to argue with her.

He raises both hands in the air, trying to let her know that he’s not even going to touch that topic with a ten foot pole.

“I guess everyone knows now,” Michael admits, feeling _relieved_.

He’s spent ten years keeping secrets from the people he loves for one reason or another. He’d told himself that it’s to protect them. With Alex, he didn’t tell Max and Isobel because he worried about Jesse Manes finding them. He didn’t tell Isobel the truth about the girls because he didn’t want to ruin her life. He didn’t tell Maria about aliens because he felt like it would only complicate her existence in Roswell.

The last few months of his secrets unravelling before his eyes has been proof that Michael maybe doesn’t know best and he should trust his family and friends by telling them the truth. It’s a whole lot less exhausting, he knows that.

“Yeah,” Liz agrees, “and Maria just texted me her exact location and a promise that we can bitch about our alien idiots for hours with some _excellent_ pot.” She tucks her phone away, kissing Rosa on the top of her head and squeezing her in a too-tight hug. “Take care of my little sister.”

Rosa rolls her eyes. “I’m still your big sister,” she gripes. “Remember? Alex got me the ID and everything!” she has to shout after her, because Liz books it out of there in a hurry, waving to them as she goes. “Meddling menace,” she mutters, but she’s grinning as she tries to duck her head and hide that fact.

Michael feels a little better knowing that Maria’s trying to work through it, but seeing as they’re also in the middle of combing through Jim Valenti’s conspiracy files, maybe he’s just happy for the distraction. 

“So what’s the deal?” Rosa asks, once Liz is gone. “Anything juicy in there? Forget aliens, did _real_ Dad know about Bigfoot?” she asks, heavy with sarcasm.

That would be so much cooler, if Jim and Jesse had an obsession with the Pacific Northwest’s greatest cryptid. Instead, he’s got a whole government plot set up to try and take him down when the worst thing he’s done is keep a few secrets and help aid and abet a few murders.

Not great when he puts it like that, but he’s not a bad guy. He just wants to live his life, love his husband, and not piss off his friends. 

“I think I’ve got something,” Alex says, leaning over to steal a fry from Michael’s plate, dipping it in his milkshake before he pops it in his mouth. “Not Bigfoot,” he adds pointedly in Rosa’s direction.

“Please don’t get grease on the files,” Valenti sighs, as if he knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

Alex pointedly takes another fry, dips it, and eats it over top of the folder, all while maintaining eye contact with Valenti. It prompts Valenti to throw his hands in the air, muttering under his breath, but he slouches back in defeat. 

“I knew that they had surveillance, but I didn’t think they still had actual sites set up. These notes are about a prison, but I don’t know that it’s still operational,” Alex says, frowning as he finishes scribbling in his notes, flipping it around so everyone can see what it says. “These are encoded with a different cypher than the last ones,” he says, frowning. “Valenti, is there something that your Dad said to you before he died? Maybe there was a name that was out of place? Or maybe there’s something that he said to you, specifically about you, that might be the key here? It would have to be pretty big, something you’d remember.”

Valenti looks around sheepishly, and Michael seizes the moment, leaning forward.

“Spit it out.”

Valenti mutters something under his breath.

“Nope, didn’t catch that,” Rosa replies, clearly on board with drawing this out and making Valenti’s life hell. Michael adores her for it, and she instantly becomes his preferred Ortecho. 

Valenti drags in a ragged breath, glaring at each of them around the table in turn, and then, it seems like he decides to give in and get it over with. 

“Magoo!” 

Michael buries his face in Alex’s shoulder, because Valenti just shouted that one out, didn’t he? Half of the people in the Crashdown stop moving. Rosa’s snickering into her palm and Alex gives Valenti a sympathetic look, like he feels sorry that Valenti decided to lose his mind like that in front of the whole diner, though he doesn’t look very sorry about eliciting that response.

“Magoo,” Michael tells Alex, with a sordid sort of glee. “You got that?”

“Wish I’d known that in high school,” Alex says with a smirk. “And yeah,” he says, turning the screen of his phone around to show the others. “I definitely got it. Looks like that was the key to unlocking these symbols and his code.” 

Michael leans in, trying to make sense of all the notes. There’s a lot of personal stuff in there for Valenti that makes him feel a little awkward, but while Alex scrolls down, one word keeps coming up. He reaches over to stop Alex from moving the screen, leaning in to see if he’s got it right. 

“Caulfield?” Michael asks.

Rosa shrugs, Alex looks clueless, but there’s a look of understanding dawning on Valenti’s face.

“Dad used to say that name. That last week, when he was delirious, he kept going on about Caulfield,” Valenti says, furrowing his brow as he reaches for the stack of files to start digging into them, handing half of it to Alex so he can help go through them. It takes the both of them another few minutes, but inevitably Valenti pulls up a map. He taps on a spot in the corner. “Here,” he says, craning his head to the side. “According to the notes, it’s an abandoned site. Why would my Dad be writing about it in code?” 

“Someone was onto him,” Rosa suggests. 

“Maybe he stopped trusting Jesse?” Alex suggests, flicking through the files. “His name is all over these, it almost looks like Jim was trying to build evidence against _him_ , specifically,” he says, frowning as he stares at the papers. “If they were in deep together for so long, what could have happened to sever that?”

Valenti looks at the dates on the notes he’s going over, his face losing color. “This is after he got sick, that last week,” he says, tapping the date on the letters. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“What,” Alex deadpans, “my Dad, doing something shifty and betraying the people on his side? Never.”

There’s something fishy going on, but what scares Michael the most is how even one of Jesse’s closest allies could turn on him and what might have happened to him because of it. He’s always known how dangerous Jesse is, but seeing the evidence is robbing his appetite. 

Luckily, Alex’s decryption is timely. No one seems like they want to sit around for a second round of fries now that they’ve got something to do. 

“We need more on Caulfield,” Valenti says, reaching over to start collecting the files. “I’m going to go see if my Mom knows anything. We could also do some recon. Drive up to the place, see if we can find anything that’s left, even if it’s been shut down.”

“I’ll look into aerial imaging, try and get a better understanding of the place before we do,” Alex promises, already pulling up the satellite imagery. “Michael, stick close, in case I want your eyes on anything.”

Rosa smirks at Alex as she exits the booth, taking the empty plates with her as she follows Valenti out. “I don’t think you need to tell him twice. I’m sure you two have been in all kinds of sticky situations.”

Michael doesn’t need to look behind him to know that he and Alex have matching expressions and that they’re both withering. It’s not that it’s untrue, but it’s gross when she puts it like that. He’d much rather talk about how _hard_ it is to pry them apart. It’s got more class.

“I’ll text if I find anything,” Valenti promises, sliding his cowboy hat back on his head. “Be safe, everyone.”

“And I guess I’ll just go run the plates to the dishwasher, which is my secret government conspiracy task,” Rosa sighs.

Alex pushes at Michael’s shoulder to get him out of the booth, ducking over to press a kiss to Rosa’s cheek. “It’s one that we’re very grateful for. Tell Arturo the fries were great, and let Maria know to please call Michael? Please?” he says.

Michael would protest Alex acting like his knight in shining armor, but the truth is, he’ll try anything right now to get her talking to him again.

“Fine, but only because I like you,” Rosa sighs, and flicks her fingers. “Go. Get out of here, go solve government conspiracies while I think of about a dozen ways to work in Magoo into conversation to make Valenti suffer.”

“Please,” Michael begs, “text those when you’re done.”

She winks at him, delivering the finger guns, and Michael puffs up as he lets Alex escort him out the door, ready to bring down the government and Jesse Manes at the same damn time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a little tease about something that will be in chapter 12:
>
>> “So, my sister, huh?”
>> 
>> Valenti squirms a little, which is all that Michael really wants. “If you’re okay with it?”
>> 
>> Michael scoffs. “You really think I could ever influence Isobel? If she wants to date you, then I got no say.” He keeps a hand on Alex’s arm, rubbing up and down his bicep. Alex has bogarted the popcorn to watch the movie, but Michael needs to make sure that Isobel is in good hands. “You’re serious about her, right? You don’t just have a thing for blondes? I’ve seen Jenna Cameron.”
>> 
>> “We’ve all seen Jenna Cameron, we all know how hot she is. She’s been in a relationship for years,” Valenti argues. 


	11. When The Lights Go Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive-in means groveling galore for Michael and Kyle, both trying to repair their friendships with Maria and Alex. Isobel endures her office toasting to the missing Noah Bracken, but can tolerate it for his plush office, and Max pays a visit to the Crashdown roof to see Liz.

The drive-in is supposed to be a sacred place, even if it is crawling with way too many uniforms these days. 

Whatever base they’re building nearby is infesting the town with soldiers, and it makes Michael antsy the way that kind of authority always does. Then again, Michael can’t lie that it’s a decent view and makes him think of what might have been, eyes trailing after a handsome soldier with a great ass and hair dyed blue.

“Michael,” Alex says flatly, when he notices where his attention has slipped.

“I was thinking about you!” he protests, accepting the bottle of beer Alex is holding out. “What!” he protests at the way Alex presses his lips together, clearly unimpressed. “I was! In some other world, that could’ve been you in camouflage,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. “I’m really glad you didn’t go down that road. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell would’ve been a bitch, because I’m all about the show and tell,” he says, drifting back from another kiss with a sly smirk on his face.

“Is it going to be like this all night?” comes the comment from the peanut gallery.

“You’re lucky you’re here,” Maria tells Valenti. “You wanted to grovel, this is your chance.”

Alex leans back and smirks at her, then gives Valenti an innocent raise of his brows. “You wanna talk about _hot dogs_ some more, Valenti?”

“I miss Isobel,” Valenti mutters, clearly longing for a go-between.

Michael does, too, but Max had called in his second favor for the year and that means both of them will be out of commission for the night. “Bring her a bottle of acetone when we’re done here,” Michael advises, even if he feels weird giving Valenti romantic advice. “Trust me. You’ll be in her good books after that.” 

“Are any of you going to tell me what’s going on at the hospital?” Valenti asks.

Michael hears himself about to say that they’re keeping it from him for his own safety, but that’s just more of the same mistakes he’s been making over the last decade. Even as much as it pains him, he forces himself to say, “Ask Isobel tonight. Or Max. This one’s not mine to control whether you know or not.”

He feels open and exposed for not locking down their secrets, but Alex rubs his back and mumbles, “Good boy,” and hell if that doesn’t do all sorts of things to Michael. 

“I got the snacks!” Liz says loudly, hauling herself up onto the bed of Michael’s truck with her loot, sandwiching herself between Alex and Maria, giving Michael a fierce glare. “Don’t forget. You’re only here because I like your truck and you married Alex,” she warns. “You let me think my sister ran away when she was dead, _and_ you kept it from Maria even though you let her attend your secret wedding! Which, also, pissed about,” is her pointed glance at Alex.

“Liz,” Alex pleads, sulking like he didn’t expect to get dragged into it.

“Okay, fair,” Michael allows, but he feels like he’s gotta defend his family a little. “We didn’t have any good options. Noah forced our fucking hand there,” he scoffs. “Which feels weird to then be grateful he somehow preserved her body,” he says, features contorting up as he thinks about the broken pod and what that must have been like. “I’m sorry that you didn’t have Rosa. I’m even sorry that if it were up to me, I would’ve played it careful and waited until we had more research, instead of doing what Max did and going straight for the miracle.”

He shrugs, and gives Liz an apologetic look. 

“Just, don’t pin it on Max, okay? We stumbled on a shitty situation, but when we found her in the pod, I think he was ready to kill himself to heal her, all for you, even without the hope that you’d even know what he did for you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Liz says, wearing a steady poker face that doesn’t give her feelings away, even if she continues with her accusations. “That still doesn’t explain you ghosting me on the wedding,” she brings up, given that Michael kind of tried to avoid that one. 

Looks like he’s not getting away with that. 

“Spur of the moment thing in Vermont,” Alex says, and he gives her a pointed raise of his brows, which Michael recognizes as Alex about to get the upper hand, what with the slight smug raise of his lips. “Also, you didn’t exactly keep in touch. We left one night, got married two days later, and you weren’t exactly getting back to us without at least two weeks going by,” he points out.

Liz wrinkles her nose, like she hadn’t expected them to use logic against her. “Fine, that one’s on me.” 

“I’ll show you the pictures later,” Maria promises, curling into Liz’s side. “Even if the two of them looked ridiculous, but that’s what you get when you let a pair of impulsive nineteen-year-olds plan their own wedding.” 

She’s pointedly speaking to Liz and _not_ Michael, paying extra mind to not even look at him while she talks.

Alex and Michael are both noisy in their protest, but it’s all in vain. Liz grabs at the blankets behind them, curling up with Maria and resting her cheek on her shoulder as she pointedly turns away from them. “More punishment later,” she guarantees. “Right now, I need Maria time.”

“You heard her,” Michael allows, and glances to where Valenti is awkwardly trying to find space in what’s left of the cab. He ends up leaning against the side, his knee up in an awkward position. Feeling a _little_ bad for him, Michael grabs at Alex to reposition their bodies, until he’s leaning back into Alex’s arms, snug between his legs, to make more space. 

“Valenti, relax,” Alex says, pelting a blanket at him. “We’re here to watch a movie and you look like you’re gonna burst.” 

It's _Men in Black_ playing, which feels a bit weird considering they just told Maria that they’re aliens, not to mention Mimi is still somehow tied up in Jesse’s legacy, but it’s a sacrifice Michael’s willing to make so long as he gets to curl up with Alex like this. Even with Valenti here, it’s still worth it.

“Alex, I…”

Michael shoots a glare at Valenti's stupid face, but Alex reaches down to squeeze Michael’s hand. “We said that we’d let him talk,” he reminds him. 

It’s true, but he doesn’t have to like it. 

“Fine, he can talk,” Michael mutters, but deliberately wraps an arm around Alex’s shoulders, shifting until he can haul himself up _into_ Alex’s lap, smirking at Valenti and daring him to say something about it.

Valenti rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t deter him. “I was an asshole in high school because I was a coward. I didn’t know what to do when my best friend turned out to be different and I turned into the typical bully from every cliché teen movie that’s ever aired at this drive-in. I get it.”

Alex makes a big sarcastic show of thinking about it to draw out his reply, eventually having mercy and confirming that with a nod. “Accurate,” he agrees. 

“I’m not that guy anymore,” Valenti insists. “I don’t _want_ to be that guy, who lets other people try and push him around. I don’t want to fall in line with Jesse Manes’ orders or be the kind of coward that lets himself get in deep with something that my Dad was too scared to get out of, whatever this Caulfield site is. I’m not saying that I deserve to be your best friend again. I know we’re not going to build treehouses in the yard tomorrow.”

Michael mouths ‘treehouses?’at Alex, and gets a quiet, “I’ll explain later.”

“I’m just asking for a chance,” Valenti finishes. “I wanna be your friend again. I’m in Guerin’s life, and you’re his husband. Plus, you know, I was your friend first. I feel like I at least deserve one more chance. I recognize that I was awful, but I stopped being that guy a long time ago.”

Alex stays silent, the soundtrack of the movie filling the space. Michael notices that Maria and Liz have gone quiet, which means either they’re really into the movie or they’re eavesdropping and he’s pretty sure it’s the latter.

“You really hurt me, Valenti,” Alex says, finally. He’s pressing his cheek to Michael’s shoulder. He’s staring at Valenti with a fixed, unflinching look as he tells him about that hurt. Even in the dark, Michael can see the way Alex’s brow is furrowed. “You were my best friend, you were the only ally I had, and I love Maria and Liz, I do, but you were my first friend and you treated me like I was less than human. It made me feel like my Dad maybe wasn’t wrong when he said that I was defective and wrong. You get that, right? That you being like that only reinforced the worst of what Jesse slung at me.”

“Yeah,” Valenti agrees, sounding rough.

The fact that Valenti is beating himself up so much is pretty much the only reason Michael’s willing to let him keep apologizing. 

“I guess I kind of missed you being my friend, though,” Alex admits to something he’s only confessed to Michael during the darkest, loneliest nights, when Alex can’t sleep. “I didn’t know what to do with that betrayal and I don’t know how long we’re here for, but it’d be nice to have you back, as long as you understand that doesn’t mean tomorrow.”

Valenti nods dutifully, like a dog whose master has given him a command.

Honestly, Michael thinks Valenti might roll over if Alex gave the right command. He gets it, though. He’s been in similar positions with Alex, ready to obey his every word.

“I promise, Alex, you won’t regret it.”

“I know I won’t,” Alex agrees, patting Michael’s chest where he’s snuggled up with him. “Because if you piss me off this time, I’m unleashing my alien on you.” On command, Michael snarls, so maybe he’s the trained dog in this scenario.

With them all made up or tentatively forming a truce, Michael can go back to the other part of what Valenti’s said. The whole ‘in Guerin’s life’ piece is absolutely not to be ignored, since given the way Isobel’s drifting around like she’s on cloud nine, he can’t see that changing. Even if they end up moving away, Michael feels like he might end up with Kyle Valenti as a brother-in-law.

Fuck, let the cosmos help him.

“So, my sister, huh?”

Valenti squirms a little, which is all that Michael really wants. “If you’re okay with it?”

Michael scoffs. “You really think I could ever influence Isobel? If she wants to date you, then I got no say.” He keeps a hand on Alex’s arm, rubbing up and down his forearm. Alex has bogarted the popcorn and has turned his attention to the movie and as Michael steals kernels, he sets out to make sure that Isobel is in good hands. “You’re serious about her, right? You don’t just have a thing for blondes? I’ve seen Jenna Cameron.”

“We’ve all seen Jenna Cameron, we all know how hot she is. She’s been in a relationship for years,” Valenti argues. “I like Isobel,” he says. “If that’s gonna be a problem between us…”

Michael shakes his hand, holding up his hand. “You treat her right, it’s not gonna be an issue. Don’t be an asshole, take her out for dinner, and buy her flowers. She had a rough few years in Roswell before we left, and she deserves to feel safe.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Valenti’s a pretty good option for keeping her safe. He’s a good man, deep down, and he’s a deputy, who can make sure that nothing happens to Isobel. 

“But remember, you hurt her, and Max can kill you with a single touch,” Michael says helpfully, “and I don’t even have to move a finger to help.”

Valenti squirms a little, which, _good_. Michael appreciates still having the upper hand. 

“I also know that if we laid a single finger on that pretty head of yours, Isobel would use _her_ superpower to make us regret it,” he mutters, and it shows how much he loves Isobel that he’s willing to call truce with Valenti. 

It’s the closest he’s going to get to saying he’s cool with it, and Valenti better be okay with that. 

“So, we’re good?” 

“Take her out, treat her right, make sure she gets everything a woman deserves.” He leans over to pat Valenti’s abs a few times, giving him a smirk as Alex stifles his amused laughter. “I guarantee, you won’t regret it.”

With Valenti sputtering in defense of his ridiculous eight-pack, Michael settles back in with Alex as the movie goes on.

He’s trying his best not to eavesdrop on Liz and Maria whispering back and forth about how they’ve been kept in the dark about aliens, the ups and downs of the last few weeks, and how _angry_ they are, but he can’t help himself. Maria hasn’t really spoken to Michael since they told her the truth.

She’s willing to be around him, but she hasn’t confided in him and they haven’t had an honest conversation since it happened. It’s like he’s gone ten steps back in their friendship.

He buries his face in Alex’s neck, wishing that he could stop the guilt, but he spent ten years not feeling guilty about keeping the secret from them, so maybe he deserves it. “Hey,” Alex says, rubbing his palm over Michael’s chest. “They’ll come around,” he promises. “They need time. I needed a day and I married you. I’m not sure Liz or Maria could be tricked into saying vows that would make them forgive you faster.”

“I don’t want to be forgiven,” Michael says heatedly. “I just don’t want to lose her.” 

He doesn’t really know Liz that well, and he’ll leave that angst for Max, but Maria’s been one of his few close friends for the last decade who knew about Alex, who knew about the marriage, and the idea of losing her because he didn’t tell the whole truth is terrifying. 

“What if telling her now was too late?” he says quietly, hating to face the idea of a world without Maria DeLuca’s bright smile in it, but it’s a possibility.

Alex presses a kiss to Michael’s neck, then moves down to press another kiss to his shoulder. “You kept someone else’s secret from her,” he admits. “You were protecting Isobel and Max. You kept a secret from Isobel and Max, too, someone else’s secret. Are you worried that they’re going to stop talking to you?”

“No,” is Michael’s instant reply. “They’re family.”

“And so’s she,” is Alex’s reminder. “You don’t have to worry. Give her time, let her figure this out, but she’s still family at the end of the day.”

He slides his fingers through Michael’s hair to soothe him, bearing him back so they’re lying back in the truck, absently making out despite their company. Eventually, Valenti throws popcorn at them, which stops the makeout session. Without Alex’s soft and warm mouth to focus on, he lets Alex’s steady, soothing voice lull him into enjoying the movie, and it even works to take his mind off his worries until the credits are rolling.

They come back in full force once everyone is figuring out their rides home.

“Kyle, can I get a ride?” Liz asks. 

“Yeah, there’s always room,” Valenti replies.

“Me too?” Maria hurries to ask, but Michael recognizes it for the opportunity it is. “I know it’s the opposite side of town, but I need to go back to the Pony, get the deposit.”

He nudges Alex, giving him an eager nod, and steps forward before Valenti can answer, shooting a warning look in his direction. “We’ve got room,” he says. “We can drop you off at the Pony, it’s on our way to the apartment.”

She hesitates. Valenti opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but Michael doubles-down on the glaring and that seems to make him back off.

“Fine,” she allows, even if she looks resigned to it. 

He’s going to try and not take that personally. 

The ride is saved from awkwardness as Alex and Maria talk about open mic night, making arrangements for Alex to swing by and perform. Michael white-knuckles the whole drive back, working through half a dozen hypothetical scenarios in his mind about what to say to her. Once they park, Alex elbows him to get him to move, seeing as Maria’s about a minute away from vanishing inside the Pony. 

“Go,” Alex encourages. “Talk to her.”

“Keep the car running, baby, in case we gotta bolt,” Michael quips.

He takes in a deep breath to steady himself before taking this leap. 

“Maria,” Michael calls out to her through the open window, before she can get the door unlocked. “Hey!” he kisses Alex’s cheek and hurries out of the passenger side of the truck, hurrying to join her. “Sorry, I know I said I’d give you more time, but I wanted to apologize again. I know this is probably me being pushy, but you’re kind of the only friend I had for a while who knew about Alex, which...also my fault,” he admits, “and I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Maria turns, tapping her keys against her palm as she gives Michael a long look, like she’s deciding what to do with him.

Finally, she relents.

“I’m not okay,” she admits. “Jesse calls on a daily basis, and one of my friends is an alien that he could really hurt. I can guess what he used to do to Alex, and that means that I know how dangerous he is to you, to Alex, and to me, if he finds out that I’m not on his side. And Mom apparently knew all this? Do you know what she said when she gave me this necklace?” she asks, pressing her palm over the necklace she’s never without.

Michael shakes his head, though he gets the feeling it won’t be good.

“It’s to protect me from _evil_. When I was in that bunker, Jesse talked about the flower inside it. He knew. Does that mean my Mom hates aliens, too? Is she on Jesse’s side? I don’t know, and I hate not knowing!”

“I don’t want to keep you out of the loop anymore. I want you to know as much as we do. I don’t want to keep secrets.”

“Then, don’t,” Maria snaps. “Tell me what the plan is.”

It feels simple. It also feels dangerous, but he knows he can’t lie to Maria -- especially not when everyone else knows. 

“Whatever Jesse’s into, we need to dismantle whatever he’s got left. There’s an abandoned site near here called Caulfield that we’re going to do some recon on. The idea is that we find as many files as we can, build a case, and then blackmail and leverage all that shit against Jesse. We protect you, me, Max, Isobel, all of us,” he vows. “I don’t know how Mimi is tangled up in this,” he admits. “Maybe we’ll find out in the middle of all this. Maybe we won’t, but I’m not making you promises.”

He doesn’t want to let her down.

“I’m also done keeping secrets. I hope that’s enough,” he offers. “Because I don’t want to lose one of my best friends.” 

That seems to pierce through Maria’s armor. “You won’t,” she promises. “Give me a little more time and don’t keep me out of this. If you find anything in that place that can help my mother, I want to know. And even if you don’t find anything, I want you to swing by. Maybe we’re avoiding the simplest solution.”

Michael has a bad feeling he knows what she’s talking about.

“You want to confront your Mom with the truth while I’m there and see how she reacts,” he interprets that comment.

“For now, we’ll call it plan B,” Maria allows. “Go look into Caulfield. If it doesn’t pan out, I guess we’ll accuse my mother of being part of Jesse’s massive government conspiracy.” 

She shakes her head as she finishes speaking, like finally hearing the words aloud have reinforced how crazy they are.

“Have a good night, Guerin. Say goodnight to Alex for me, would you? And keep me in the loop.”

He waves his goodbye to her, giving a dutiful nod. “Sleep well, Maria.”

Michael waits until he hears the sound of her locks being bolted into place before he heads back to the truck, marching orders in hand. 

Fuck. 

Suddenly, Michael’s really holding out hope that the abandoned prison complex is the answer to all their questions, because he’d love to avoid Plan B at all costs.

* * *

This has to be a form of torture.

There’s no other explanation for why Isobel has to sit there politely toasting Noah Bracken and telling her coworkers how much she hopes that they find the poor man. This is what she gets for spinning a story about how he’s missing instead of dead.

In retrospect, they really should have made Noah be the tragic result of a mugging gone wrong. 

“To Noah!” her coworkers salute. 

Isobel musters up her brightest smile, trying to forget how much hell the man put her through, and how many deaths he caused. “To Noah,” she agrees. 

There is one good thing that’s come from him. 

After all, with his being missing, the firm decided to make Isobel a very appealing offer, including Noah’s office. Of course, they insisted that it would just be, “until he returned.” Isobel assured them that she understood, already redecorating the space in her mind. She’s got the keys to take ownership and she’s been waiting until the respectable amount of time passed before she could swoop in and claim her space.

If that means she has to tolerate a toast to a dead gaslighting murderer, she can. 

She’s absolutely going to take every last one of his possessions and burn them later, though.

Once the plastic glasses have been thrown away, Isobel declines the offer to go for more drinks. It’s not because she doesn’t like her coworkers, but she’s officially been given the keys to Noah’s old office and she’s ready to make it hers. She flicks on the lights and brings in a few banker’s boxes of her possessions with her, beaming when she notices that Noah’s office is bigger than hers _and_ he had a wine fridge.

“Well, you might have been an asshole, but at least you had good taste in interior decorating,” Isobel murmurs, turning her attention to the bookshelves to start ridding them of every trace that Noah ever existed, cleaning the empty shelves once the books are off.

She’s halfway through dusting them when she hears a commotion behind her. 

“They told me that you were in here. I didn’t expect to see you _cleaning_ , given how much of a struggle that was when you were a teenager.”

Isobel turns to see her mother holding up a bottle of champagne, practically glowing with pride. “Hey Mom,” she says, wiping at her sweaty brow as she throws away the dust cloth. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard that you signed the contract to work full time!” she says, setting the champagne on the table. “I’m so proud of you!” 

While Ann is popping the champagne, Isobel carefully tucks away the murder case files in the drawer, trying to lock away the reminder of Noah like she can turn a key and it will go away. It gives her time to watch Ann’s expression, and sure, she looks happy about Isobel’s career, but she also can’t see her being that giddy about a contract and some office space.

Besides, she already knows what her mother _really_ wants to talk about.

“Is that the only reason you’re here, Mom?”

Ann is busy pouring champagne, which gives her the convenient ability to hide her face. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replies innocently, handing Isobel her glass. 

“So, it doesn’t have to do with the fact that you called Max last night and were poking into my love life,” Isobel suggests, giving her mother a dubious look, raising both brows as she purses her lips. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with that?”

“Honey, the gossip is that you are dating Kyle Valenti, of course I’m going to pry, have you seen that man’s body?” 

“Ew, Mom, please don’t talk about my boyfriend like that!”

“Besides, I had to resort to town gossip, my own daughter hasn’t told me what’s going on with her and her new beau,” Ann says, giving her a pointed look, knocking Isobel back with just as much firepower and guilt as only a mother can.

Isobel settles on the edge of the desk, sipping her drink and trying to present a calm, unbothered air. 

“Max mentioned that he didn’t think you were planning to stay in town, so you can imagine my surprise when I heard a rumor that you’re going to be sticking around.”

He’s right about that. She hadn’t been intending to stay. When they’d first come back here, Isobel’s intentions had been to put in a few years at the firm before moving back to a big city. Signing a contract to remain here full time and try to work up to partner status throws a wrench into that plan, but she also hadn’t been expecting to unravel a serial murderer’s case and fall for someone at the same time. 

Kyle came along and took a sledgehammer to her carefully crafted plans. 

“Things changed,” is all Isobel says.

“Kyle Valenti changed it for you?”

He hadn’t been the whole reason, but he’s a very _firm_ part, Isobel thinks. “He’s a really good guy,” Isobel admits, and she hasn’t exactly had her fair share of luck in the dating scene. “Max is going to be here too, I think.” He hasn’t said as much, but Isobel has the feeling that Max’s plans had cemented the minute Liz Ortecho got back to town.

She only wishes that she could be sure that Michael would stay, too, but every time the topic comes up, he changes the subject to talk about Caulfield, which feels like the _only_ thing he discusses these days.

“We don’t have to talk about your brother,” Ann promises as she puts her champagne down to take Isobel by the hand. “Honey, tell me about Kyle. It’s only been a few months and I’m _thrilled_ , but you went ten years without dating anyone serious enough to bring them home to me. Why’s he so different?”

Why is Kyle different from the other men?

It throws her off guard momentarily, but the answer comes swiftly.

“He’s not trying to be something he’s not, because he did for a long time. So did I,” Isobel admits. “He and I both spent a lot of years pretending to be someone else to get by, and now we’re tired of that. He’s smart and funny and so sexy,” she admits, her mind suddenly taken by how he looked last night when he’d crawled into bed with Isobel, clad in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs after going down on her, leaving sweet, tender little kisses on his way up to her mouth. 

She can tell her mother is giving her that overly fond, almost crying look that she gets when she’s proud of Isobel, but it’s okay. She can have it, this once.

Isobel rolls her eyes, hating that she’s about to say what she is, because it feels like conceding defeat, but for a guy like Kyle, why not? “He makes me feel safe, but not because I’m weak. Because he’s there for me, to support me. He makes me feel strong,” she says, thinking of how he’d helped her build a case to take down the alien that took over her mind. “I like him,” she admits, with a sunny smile, because she might not love him yet, but it’s easy to see the path that leads her there. 

“I like him too,” Ann promises. “Lots and lots. My daughter with the reputable deputy,” she teases. “Honestly, Isobel, I know it’s early,” she says, reaching out to squeeze her hand, “but think of the _beautiful_ grandchildren you can give me.”

“Think of the _beautiful_ career I’m building,” Isobel counters, mimicking her Mom’s tone down to the emphasis. 

That seems to settle Ann slightly, who seems mollified by Isobel’s counter. “Point taken,” she allows. “I’m your mother, though, I have to meddle.”

“When I’m married and I’m a partner at this firm, you can meddle,” Isobel negotiates, thinking that the partner part won’t be that long, but seeing as she and Kyle are still figuring out their relationship, marriage is still a long way off.

It feels somewhat safe, provided Kyle doesn’t end up on one knee anytime soon.

She’d like to keep the Grandchildren Train parked at the station for a little while longer, seeing as she’s still trying to overcome a longstanding worry about what half-alien kids would even look like. 

Ann stares her down with narrowed eyes, like she’s debating whether or not to pick a fight with her daughter on this subject. “Fine,” she relents eventually. “Only because I know you’ll manage to negotiate me out of even more if I try. You were already stubborn, law school didn’t help,” she says, but it’s warmth in her words, not accusation.

Isobel’s proud either way.

“Thanks for dropping by, Mom,” Isobel says. “It means a lot that you’re here to celebrate this with me, especially when I didn’t think I’d stay.”

Considering she’d been so reluctant to leave her home, opening her eyes to the big world that’s waiting out there had been a revelation. Returning to Roswell has done the same in reverse, reminding her that she can have a home base without shutting out the rest of the existence. In fact, she’s very much looking forward to her first trip with Kyle, preferably to a very sunny beach location where she can convince him to wear very little.

“I’m happy to be here, sweetie,” Ann says, kissing the top of Isobel’s head as she pries the empty cup from Isobel’s hands. “Now! My work here is done,” Ann announces cheerfully, throwing away the cups, “I have one other child entangled in romance and that one is far more hopeless than you are.”

She’s not wrong. Isobel’s pretty sure that Max is still making sad puppy-dog eyes around Liz like he’s hoping that eventually she’ll forgive him for what happened with Rosa. It’d be sad, if _everyone_ in town didn’t know that it’s only a matter of time before Liz gives in, because she’s just as hopeless about Max.

“Don’t make him cry, Mom.”

“No promises,” Ann says as she leaves, but not before she stops in the doorway to fix her steady eye on Isobel. “Even if you didn’t have a gorgeous deputy boyfriend, I’d be so proud, Isobel. My sweetheart, you did such a good job, and I’m so proud of you for getting here.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Isobel says, because she’s pretty proud of herself, too. 

Once Ann leaves, Isobel makes her way around the desk, sliding her hands over the ornate carving in the cherry oak, feeling a swell or pride that this all belongs to her now. She reclines back in the chair, kicking her feet up on the desk once she’s removed her heels. From here, she can see that the top drawer is slightly ajar, a piece of paper sticking out of it. 

Pulling it open, she draws out a set of familiar files that she thought she’d given back to Kyle or had misplaced. 

It looks like Noah had been onto them from the start. 

Beneath the files are newspaper clippings and an array of other pieces of information she’s never seen before. Some of them date back to the 1940’s, along with interviews about strange goings-on about a site in the desert a few hours away scattered through newspapers in more recent decades. 

She takes a few pictures on her phone of the clippings, sending them to Michael and Alex in case they look familiar.

Isobel slides one photo aside to see military coordinates and a name on the back of it. It looks like it was taken a few years ago, but there are trucks parked on the site from the imagery, and Noah’s handwriting is all over it, schedules and notes littering the back. 

On the bottom of one of the photos is one terrifying, incriminating word: Caulfield.

It looks like they’re not escaping this one. Isobel sends the last of the photos over before hitting Alex’s number to give him a call about what she’s found. 

“Hey,” Isobel says, when she gets Alex’s voicemail. “I sent you some pictures that I think you might want to look at. It looks like we weren’t the only ones onto this Caulfield place. Whatever was out there, I think it’s dangerous, Alex.”

She doubts that’s going to stop them from going, but she has to make sure they have all the information they can get. 

“Be careful, okay? We didn’t survive all of this just to lose now.”

Not to mention that Isobel doesn’t _lose_ , not ever.

This isn’t the time to start.

* * *

“Hey. Is that seat taken?”

Liz looks up from where she’s staring into a journal that’s seen better days, sharpie darkening most of the pages. He’d snuck up to the rooftop to see her, a note in hand (care of Rosa) that he’s been meaning to leave for over a decade. Now, he finally has permission to give it to its intended recipient. 

“Who let you up here?” 

Max shrugs as he settles down on the scaffolding that holds up the Crashdown sign. “Rosa told me you were up here,” he says. 

Liz rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Rosa,” she says, her laugh faintly amused. “You two are thick as thieves now?”

Max has to think that all those days spent connected _did_ something, if only to allow Rosa to understand what he feels for Liz. He thinks it’s why Rosa’s given him so much leeway and room to go after Liz, because she knows at her core that Max would never treat her poorly and that he really does love her. She knows that because she’s felt it like it’s her own. 

“Would it be so bad?” Max asks hopefully.

He knows it helps his case. He’s guaranteed not to have any success romantically with Liz unless Rosa approves of him. 

Liz tugs the blanket around her shoulders tighter, the wind making her hair cascade off her shoulders as she turns to look at him, looking like a force of nature sitting up here near the sign. He feels, weirdly, like he belongs and doesn’t all at the same time. His powers make him wild and dangerous, but he sets up rules around them and treats them like something he only uses from time to time, rather than a part of himself.

Right now, though, under the stars, he wants it to be a part of him, if only to feel closer to her. 

“Rosa gave this back to me,” Max says, holding out the note folded up in the intricate origami square pattern he’d learned back in high school. His hair falls into his eyes and he pushes his fingers into it to brush it back behind his ear, settling in beside Liz, though giving her some space. 

Liz reaches out hesitantly to take it into her hands, staring at the complicated folds. “What is this?”

“At this point, a memory,” Max admits. “I uh, I was putting this under your windshield ten years ago when Rosa found me, freaked out on me, and tried to get me away from you. I don’t think she liked me for you, figured that I’d try and keep you from your grand destiny.” He gives a quiet exhalation, half-laughter, and settles back to watch her. “I guess that was fair. Until everything went down in that cave, I don’t think I intended to leave town. She was scared I’d anchor you here.” 

Liz starts to open it, giving him a wary look. “Do you want me to read it?”

Truthfully, Max kind of wants to run away and bury his head in a pillow so he doesn’t suffer secondhand embarrassment, but that’s the coward’s way out and he’s braver than that.

“Just remember I was seventeen when I wrote it,” he pleads.

“No promises.”

She opens the last fold and then turns her full attention to the note while Max watches intently. Liz mouths the words as she reads them, and then, at one point, she touches her lips. 

He knows exactly what part of the note she’s at.

“We never kissed, Max,” she says quietly. “Why does this say…?” she trails off, closing her eyes like she’s trying to remember.

“I got hot sauce on my lips,” Max reminds her. “You wiped it off with your fingers,” he says, smiling ruefully, “and then I caused a power outage because I was so, uh, bothered.”

Liz buries her face in the note, but Max can see the glee in her smile, how proud she looks to have caused that kind of reaction in Max. His heart feels like it’s beating faster than before and his chest is tight, the way it always gets when he’s around Liz, and he feels tangled up and hopeful. 

She finishes reading, tucking the note away reverently in her pocket before she moves to sit on her hands, staring at him speculatively. 

“I don’t know what to feel about you,” Liz admits carefully, giving him an apologetic look. “I want to be furious at you, but I didn’t even know Rosa was gone, and I didn’t even try to look for her. I feel like half the time I’m telling myself that I’m mad at you, I’m furious at myself. Now, she’s back and I’m back, and you’re here.”

Max knows that he’d better not encourage that anger, since it’ll help his case a lot more if he focuses on moving forward.

“Are you?” Max asks the question that’s on his mind. “Are you still mad at me?” 

He’s been avoiding the question for weeks now, capitalizing on the truce that seems to be in place thanks to Alex and Michael’s mission to figure out what this Caulfield site is and how to protect them from Jesse Manes, but he needs to know. 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Liz says. “I don’t know how to feel about you, but I think I’m getting tired of convincing myself that you’re the one at fault when you gave me back my sister and helped deal with the man who took her away. The lying, the truth hiding, the rest of that, it’s something I can come to terms with. My willingness to believe Rosa could run away like Mom and abandon us, that’s on me.”

That’s definitely better than Max had been expecting. 

“I can’t tell you to forgive me, but I can say that I desperately want to be forgiven by you.” Max hears it, hears the way it sounds like he’s going to guilt her into it and winces. “I just mean that I want to respect what you need, so if you want to be mad at me and tell me to screw off, then I’ll go and screw…” 

He coughs awkwardly when he hears the way that sounds, flushing so much that he’s sure Liz can see it even though it’s almost pitch-black and strands of his hair are covering his face.

Max feels like that awkward note is the right time to escape, but as he’s sliding away, Liz stops him by grabbing his hand and squeezing, tugging him back. “No,” she says, even if she’s clearly laughing and trying to hide it. “No, it’s okay. Don’t go.”

“Okay,” he says, embarrassed as hell, but settling back in. “Tell me what you need, Liz. I want to give it to you, whatever it is.”

“I want to know how it felt when you brought Rosa back.” 

It’s not the question Max is expecting. He thought maybe they’d talk more about the note or high school or what he did at UNM. Maybe, he held out hope that they’d talk about what he’s been doing in Roswell, but he’s also not surprised that everything comes back to Rosa.

“Uh, like, the medicine behind it? Or the alien powers?”

“Either? Both? I’m working with lab rats and cell regeneration, and you brought my sister back from the dead,” Liz says, reminding him of the insane thing that Max still can’t believe he’d done. “You’re a walking talking science project come to life and I can’t even test you.”

Max lets out a rough exhalation. “Yeah, we shouldn’t go down that road. I can feel Michael freaking out from here,” he deadpans.

“Sorry,” Liz says, pressing her hands to her face in embarrassment, like she just figured out how bad that sounded. “I don’t want to turn you into a dissected alien on a table, but you’re incredible, Max. You healed all of my sister’s dead cells with alien powers.”

“The second time, I did.” Max grimaces, giving Liz a pained look. “If I got it right the first time, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Liz gives him a confused look and Max almost forgets that she doesn’t know what happened the first time. Rosa was already dead and that means she’s not exactly telling tales. He can’t tell the full story either, given that he’d been the last one in the cave, but he can explain what he means about the first time.

“I couldn’t heal her, but I tried. I tried until I felt hollowed out, and I realized that I was never going to be able to heal her while I was powerless and in the dark.” It’s the worst day of his life, still, because it had been a day he’d failed Isobel by not being there while Noah took her over, and he’d failed Rosa by not resurrecting her, which had failed Liz in the process. He’d failed Michael, too, in letting him take the full blame for the girls’ deaths.

“What changed?” Liz asks.

Max laughs, because it sounds so silly and simple. “An education,” he says, with a shrug. “Healing blindly wasn’t working, but once I understood what I was doing, it was like performing surgery with a boost. Michael thinks that having Noah’s energy helped push it over the edge this time around, that Isobel lended a hand, but when I brought her back, I healed what needed to be healed -- her heart, her brain, her organs, got her blood moving again. The pod kept her body in decent shape, I just did the rest.”

Now, Rosa’s alive and sitting downstairs sketching in her notebooks. 

She’s really good at it, too. Before he’d come up to see Liz, she’d shown him the comics she’s been working on about aliens and their human allies, fighting against massive government conspiracies. 

They were a bit on the nose, but Max kind of likes them. She draws him really well, even if she hasn’t seemed to get the hang of Michael’s curls yet. 

“I have three degrees and I’m still struggling to find a place that will let me run a clinical trial,” Liz scoffs. “What you did with Rosa, I want to do that for the whole world. Cell regeneration, fixing people, healing them,” she continues, sighing heavily.

Max doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep, but there’s something about Liz Ortecho that makes him want to try.

“You know, the hospital has a lab,” he says. “I think Dr. Avila was looking for someone to work with her. Even if she’s not, maybe you and I could put in a request for funding,” he says, filled with hope that she’ll say yes. “I’ve been looking for some research to be a part of, it helps bulk up your resume and if I do decide to stay in Roswell, I’d love the extra help.”

He’d also love spending the time with her, but he hopes that goes unsaid.

“Are you wooing me with science, Max Evans?” Liz asks him, her lips teasingly curved upwards in a smile.

“From what I hear, that’s the way to Liz Ortecho’s heart,” he replies with ease, even if his heart is pounding in his chest. “If you want, we could put in the application later this week.”

She rubs her thumb along her lower lip, which doesn’t do a thing to hide the joy on her face or the way she’s smiling. “I’d like that,” she admits. She keeps rubbing, and it makes Max think of the hot sauce all over again, which has him shifting a little. 

This has been a great start, but he doesn’t want to ruin it by shorting out all the lights on the main strip below them, and he knows that if anything goes on between them, that’s exactly what will end up happening. Besides, he’s also kicking himself thinking that something _might_ happen.

Just because Liz is talking to him again doesn’t mean that anything has changed between them in that sense.

“I should get going,” he says, trying to avoid that embarrassing outcome. “I’m supposed to help Michael look over some files in the morning, one last research push before they drive out there.” He doesn’t want to push his luck, either. Things between them seem good, like they’ve finally reached a truce, and he doesn’t want to upset the delicate balance they’ve struck, which means he needs to go. 

He’s two steps down the rung of the ladder when Liz gets a hand in the hood of his sweatshirt, tangled up in it as she stares down at him. 

“Max,” she says. “Wait.”

Wordlessly, Max climbs one rung back up, tipping his chin up towards her. “Yeah?” he asks breathlessly. She hasn’t said what she wants him to stay for, but he’s hoping with every ounce of it he possesses. 

She seems to be in the middle of making a decision, seconds stretching out to eternity.

Then, she seems to make up her mind, darting forward towards him. The surprise almost knocks Max back off the ladder, but Liz grabs hold of his hoodie with both hands, hauling him back from his sway so she can yank him in for a kiss.

His fingers wrap around the metal of the ladder, cool to the touch, as he surges upwards to soak up a kiss he’s been waiting over a decade for. The desire, the emotion, the need, it’s all overwhelming and Max feels the power within him bubbling to the surface. 

The lights illuminating the Crashdown sign buzz and flicker, and then sparks shower over them before total darkness surrounds them. 

Max eases back, an apologetic look on his face as he stares up at Liz with only the moonlight to light him up. 

She doesn’t look mad, so much as gleeful. “I definitely remember that day in high school now.”

Max cringes, squeezing his eyes shut. He hasn’t done that since he was a teenager, but one kiss from Liz Ortecho and the lights go out.

“Oops?”

She grabs his cheeks and pulls him in. The stars illuminate her eyes and they sparkle, but they’re nothing in comparison to how incandescently glorious her smile is. “We’ve already knocked out the lights. Nothing to lose by one more kiss.” 

Max takes the last step back up the ladder, wraps his arms around Liz, and kisses her the way that he’s meant to for over a decade, because if they’re knocking out the power, then he might as well give it everything he’s got. With Liz laughing and throwing her arms around his neck when he lifts her into his arms, it’s clear that she’s on board with that plan.

Her joy is infectious, filling Max with a hope that swells in his chest unlike anything he’s felt before. Max really didn’t expect anything when he came up to the roof tonight, but kiss after kiss makes his goals for the future fall into sharp contrast. It’s Liz, in every one of them. It’s her, in his arms, and it’s kisses like these -- _forever_.

One by one, the lights blink out down the main strip.

Kiss by kiss, Max knows he should feel some kind of guilt for it.

And yet, after waiting so long for it, there’s nothing he wants more than to keep kissing Liz Ortecho, willing to knock out the power to the entire country for the night, if that’s the result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Sunday - Caulfield:
>
>> Michael doesn’t like the sound of any of that, but specifically, “Does this mean he’s emailed before so you’d know exactly what he sounds like normally?”
>> 
>> Alex doesn’t answer. 
>> 
>> “…okay, I guess I could’ve told Max and Isobel, then,” he says sharply, sitting back.
>> 
>> “It was all done on public computers and I erased my trail,” Alex snaps back at him. “I missed my brothers and I wanted to talk to my family because you didn’t want to tell yours.”
>> 
>> “So I could protect you, are you serious right now?”
>> 
>> “Can you two please stop having a marital spat? It makes me feel really awkward seeing Mom and Dad fight.” Valenti pleads. 


	12. Scar Tissue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle, Alex, and Michael head up to Caulfield, but a recon mission turns into a rescue op when things devolve out of their control.

When Alex said that they would be taking an exploratory trip up to the Caulfield site, Michael figured they’d get some road trip snacks, have a quick drive, scope out the place, and then come back to meet with the team and figure out a plan of attack. 

He’s not expecting to show up at the parking lot of the Pony and find Valenti’s Jeep waiting, with Maria handing Alex a backpack loaded to the brim with supplies. He knows he’s making a petulant face, but he doesn’t exactly care. He leans over to kiss Maria’s cheek in greeting. “What’s the Deputy doing here?”

“He,” Valenti says sharply, “is coming with you two, because if you get arrested for trespassing, I’d rather be there to bail you out, instead of driving two hours to do it. Not to mention, you only know about this place because of my father, so I have a right to be there.”

Michael hadn’t considered the possibility of this road trip being with Kyle Valenti along for the ride.

Michael gives Alex a withering look, pleading with him to give him an out, but Alex shrugs and keeps packing up, like he’s already accepted their fate. It means Michael better get on board, too. “Fine, but that just means if we get caught, I’m putting the blame on you. Pretend you’re scoping out some abandoned desert prisons for the right piece of metal that won’t break with a strong set of restraints,” he quips.

Valenti gives Michael a weary look, sighing heavily as he mutters under his breath about how this is a _favor_ and he just needs to get through the day.

Michael squints at him. “What do you mean, a favor?”

“Wait! You better not leave without a goodbye.” That’s Isobel, running out of the Wild Pony, so either she’s suddenly besties with Maria or she’s been with Valenti the whole time. Michael has the feeling it’s definitely the latter. Instead of moving, he stays put, leaning up against the side of the Jeep with his arms crossed. “Michael,” Isobel hisses.

“Pretend like I’m not even here.”

Isobel pokes a finger at him. “I warned you.” She cups Valenti’s cheek, stroking her thumb down the line of his jaw. “Please be careful out there,” she insists. “We didn’t deal with a psychopath alien killer just for you to get yourself arrested for treason,” she says, and leans forward to press a kiss to his lips. “And thank you, for making sure my idiot brother isn’t about to get himself into trouble.”

So, that’s the favor.

“Alex and I can handle ourselves,” Michael complains.

“Oh, I know you two _handle_ each other all the time. At least, now I do,” Isobel’s bitterness comes flowing out in full force. 

Michael makes a face, big pleading puppy-dog eyes, and Isobel sighs heavily, which is always the first sign that she’s relenting. 

“Stop with the face, I get it. You’re sad and pathetic and I love you enough to forgive you. Please watch over my boyfriend,” she requests, once Valenti has walked over to start loading up with Alex’s help. “I might have been the one to drag him into this alien mess, but now that he’s in it, he refuses to leave.”

He has been stubbornly valiant that way, hasn’t he?

“Don’t worry, I know what it’s like pissing you off,” Michael mutters, given that he thinks he’ll be on his deathbed and Isobel will squeeze his hand and remind him about how he’d hidden his marriage for a decade. She flicks her fingers against his nose, getting his attention. “Ow! Fuck! What! I said I was gonna watch out for him!”

“Take care of yourself, too,” she adds, and wraps him up in a snug embrace.

“Deal,” Michael promises, kissing her cheek. “If he has bad music taste, though…”

She pushes him away with a roll of her eyes, letting him head over to the back of the Jeep with Alex and Valenti, giving them a nod, like they’ve been given permission to go. Michael really doesn’t want to spend too much time thinking irritably about how Isobel has somehow still remained the boss of him, but seeing as neither Valenti nor Alex are protesting, it seems like they’ve figured that out too.

Before they can go, there’s one last thing Michael needs to do. Alex seems to get it, encouraging him with a nod of his head towards Maria, sending him off for one last talk before they head out.

“Hey,” he says, giving Maria a hopeful look. “So, Plan A.”

“I really hope you find something there that can help with Jesse,” she says, fingers sliding over the clasp of her necklace. “I think if I send him to voicemail one more time, he’ll figure out a way to crawl out of my phone and pull me into his web of lies with him.”

Michael doesn’t doubt it - the man’s a snake, who knows what he’s capable of. 

“So,” he says cautiously, given that she’s talking to him, looking at him, and has lost some of the icy facade. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

He knows he sounds like a child, but he feels like one seeking validation. He wants to insist that he's learned his lesson and he’ll do better. The truth is that this trip will be the proof of that, so long as he comes back from it telling the whole truth and keeping nothing secret. 

Lucky for him, Maria takes pity on him, cupping his face as she fixes his hair, shaking her head like she’s marvelling at the state of it. “It hurt to be out of the loop for ten years, when I thought I was important to you, in your life. I think it’ll still sting a while longer. That doesn’t mean our friendship is over. I’ve put in too many hours,” she teases. “And you really think Alex would let us stay frosty for too much longer?”

Michael glances over to his husband, who’s doing a bad job of trying to pretend he’s not watching them like a hawk, huffing out a soft laugh. “I’m gonna do better,” he vows. 

“I know you are,” she says. “Good luck out there, okay? Be careful,” is her sharp warning. 

“Always,” he vows with a nod, giving her one last hug for good luck before she heads back to stand with Isobel to wave them off.

Michael crawls into the backseat so he can sprawl out while Valenti drives. Alex is already securely buckled up in the passenger seat, typing madly on his cell phone. Once Michael’s buckled in and they’re on their way, Valenti picks a radio station that doesn’t get any argument and Michael leans forward to gently massage the back of Alex’s neck.

“Thanks,” Alex murmurs.

“You’re gonna get that text neck thing,” Michael chides. “Always bowed over your phone these days.”

“Just trying to make sure I know what we’re walking into,” Alex replies, but he doesn’t look up or stop rapidly texting, his fingers flying as he writes code, breaks websites, or does whatever scary talented hacking thing he can do with just a phone. Michael keeps massaging his neck, resting his chin on the headrest of the passenger seat while he does. 

Valenti doesn’t say much, other than pointing out a few roadside stops or restaurants they pass to comment on visiting them together when they were younger and the Manes and Valentis travelled together. When it’s clear that Alex isn’t paying attention because he’s busy and Michael isn’t acknowledging him because he’s stubbornly wanting Valenti to suffer, he quits trying.

The silence is _far_ preferred. 

They’re halfway there when Alex’s phone sounds an alarm.

Michael frowns, leaning into the front seat to see the alert Alex got. When he unlocks it, the email from Flint, of all people, is on the screen. “Are you looking at that gibberish note again?” he asks, because Flint had emailed Alex all of a sudden a few weeks ago with this weird rambling email about lions and toxic rain and a bunch of other crap that made Michael think he’s been in touch with his wild side these days.

“Flint isn’t usually so meandering,” Alex insists, shaking his head as he looks at his phone. “I’ve been running it through a bunch of decryption protocols. I figured if he thinks he’s being monitored, then maybe he sent me a coded communication. That noise means the program returned a successful decryption.”

Michael doesn’t like the sound of any of that, but specifically, “Does this mean he’s emailed before so you’d know exactly what he sounds like normally?”

Alex doesn’t answer. 

“…okay, I guess I could’ve told Max and Isobel, then,” he says sharply, sitting back.

“It was all done on public computers and I erased my trail,” Alex snaps back at him. “I missed my brothers and I wanted to talk to my family because you didn’t want to tell yours.”

“So I could protect you, are you serious right now?”

“Can you two please stop having a marital spat? It makes me feel really awkward seeing Mom and Dad fight.” Valenti pleads. “Alex, what is it?”

Alex keeps typing frantically. It takes a few more minutes, but then there’s a beeping noise, like another message has come in. “The encryption revealed a link to an FTP site. It’s video footage,” he says, frowning as he pulls it up. Michael sees the blood drain from Alex’s face, not to mention the suspicious way he draws his phone out of Michael’s sight as a look of horror crosses over his face.

This can’t be good.

“Alex…?”

“I think this is Caulfield. I think Flint just sent me surveillance video of the interior of the prison.”

“Great,” Valenti says, picking up his speed. “So now we know what it looks like inside. Did he give you the entrance codes or anything about the labs? Should we be expecting any guards on the perimeter?”

“Yeah, I’d say we’re in trouble,” Alex says, putting his phone down. “There are still prisoners inside. This isn’t an abandoned site. We’re walking into an active alien prison where my Dad and who knows who else have been keeping aliens captive, maybe for the last seventy years, since the crash.”

Michael feels his stomach turn. “Pull over.”

“What?” Valenti snaps. “We’re almost there.”

“Valenti!” Alex shouts, like he can sense Michael’s distress. “Pull over!”

Valenti keeps cursing under his breath, but he pulls off to the side of the highway. It’s just in time, too. Michael stumbles out of the car, stumbling towards the desert as he feels his fury bottling up, ready to burst. He falls to his knees, grief overwhelming him, as he thinks about a family, his family, and a prison sitting only a few hours away.

All those nights at Foster Ranch that he’d sat there staring up at the stars, and he should have set his sights on something so much closer. 

He thinks about every hopeless feeling inside of him at being abandoned, when he was the one who abandoned them.

His family -- so close, and so far, suffering under Jesse Manes’ guiding hand over the last few decades.

Something inside him bursts. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been keeping in, but it bursts out of him channeled by his powers. It’s an explosion of grief, rage, and shock. 

His telekinesis ripples across the landscape in front of him, the ground shaking as he lets it loose, screaming and letting his rage carry across the flats as stones are overturned and the dust begins to settle, new cracks formed in the ground thanks to the telekinetic quake. He sinks back against his haunches, exhausted, and empty. 

He feels hopeless, dark, empty, and then he feels a hand at his shoulder. Turning, he lets Alex bundle him into his arms, flooding him with hope and love once more, replacing his depleted stores.

“Flint sent me the codes to get in,” Alex murmurs quietly, like a secret he doesn’t want the universe to hear. “Hey. Hey! Michael, look at me. Deep breaths, okay?” 

“My family, Alex,” he protests, his voice small. “All this time, I was waiting for them to rescue me, but they were hoping that I’d come for them.”

Alex grabs him by the shoulders, forcing Michael to look at him. “And today, that’s what we’re doing. We’re not going to let them suffer a second more. We’re going to get your family, Michael, we’re going to make sure that no one hurts them again. Flint sent everything; down to the security protocols. The cells and most of the prison is wired to a self-destruct sequence, but if I can get access to the control room, I can shut it down.”

Michael tries to dismiss the nausea that rises at the thought of a self-destruct sequence killing his family, but it’s almost impossible. 

“Michael, think about it. Flint’s on our side, okay?” 

The pragmatic part of Michael’s brain says that might not be true. Maybe he’s luring them there so that Jesse can do whatever he wants with them, but it would be a lot to give them the kind of access Flint’s been sending. Maybe Flint really is trying to take Jesse down from the inside. Alex has given him plenty of reasons to believe that none of the Manes boys truly love their father so much as conditionally play along to survive. 

Alex got out by lying, hiding, and applying leverage against his father when it mattered most. Maybe this is Flint’s attempt to do the same.

“We’ve been trying to figure out what to do about Jesse, but maybe this is it. We use Flint’s help, expose Jesse for running a prison, and see if we can get him nailed to the wall for atrocities against humankind.”

“They’re not exactly human, Alex.”

“You walk and talk and look human,” Alex reminds him. “That footage is a lot of elderly people, to the unknowing eye. We’ll just tell people the story that we want them to hear. Jesse Manes captured and tortured innocent people.” 

It all sounds logical and pragmatic. It should be what he needs to hear, but all Michael can think about is coming out of the pods and those endless lonely years where he longed for a family. Max and Isobel had a roof over their head and loving parents and Michael didn’t. All he had were the hopes that someone would descend from the stars and give him the family that he’d spent his childhood longing for.

“Do you want to go home, Michael?”

Michael lets out a rough laugh as he stares up at Alex, collapsing back against the ground, despite Alex trying to hold him up. It’s the most loaded question he’s been asked in his marriage, wondering what _home_ even means. For years, as that lonely child, home meant a place amongst the stars and a family he could only imagine. Once he left for UNM, home became Max and Isobel, then his marriage with Alex. Home, now, means a safe protective bubble where he could hide away from all of this. 

He can’t, though, that’s the problem.

Michael shakes his head, knowing that as much as he wants that, he can’t now that he knows his family is out here.

“No,” he says, even if it hurts like hell to know what he’s walking into. “Now that I know where they are, I can’t abandon them. They’re part of the family I had before I had you.” He grabs at Alex’s arms to ask for help to get back to his feet, letting Alex support him and his dead weight back to the Jeep.

Valenti is waiting for them, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly antsy. 

“Get in the car,” Michael instructs, even if he sounds unconvinced that he wants to do that. “Let’s keep driving, we’re almost there.” 

Valenti doesn’t move, glancing to Alex like he’s waiting for him to give permission.

“Get in the fucking car, Valenti!” Michael snaps, his patience already low. He doesn’t have time for them to play ‘who’s in charge’ when Valenti is a newcomer to this marriage, and he doesn’t need him to seek out Alex’s permission when they’re on a job and it needs to get done. 

He slams the backseat door and closes his eyes, rubbing his temples. He hears the door open again, but then it closes and Alex crawls into the backseat with him, wrapping an arm around Michael and pulling him in close, letting Michael cling to his jacket, holding on tightly and trying not to think about cells and bars and _prisoners_.

It could all be a lie. Maybe it’s old footage.

They won’t know until they’re there, and until then, Michael is content to be weak and to let Alex hold him, whispering that they’ll get through this, too, that they’ll figure out what it is. His stomach churns for the last half hour of the journey, and when Valenti pulls to a stop outside the prison, Michael feels glued in place.

He doesn’t want to get out. 

Every bone in his body is telling him to stay away, but he knows he can’t. Michael watches Alex and Valenti get out to start checking on the place and grabbing their supplies, but they don’t need to confirm what Michael already knows. He’s still denying it, because he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, but he knows the truth.

The pain he’s feeling isn’t his own. 

It belongs to whoever’s inside.

He gets out of the car, shoulders slumped as he resigns himself to what’s about to happen, watching Alex draw out his tablet. Within seconds, Alex finishes up his scan of the building in front of them, giving Michael a wary look as he does. It’s like he doesn’t want to talk about it, even though they’re here and they drove hours to find this place. He taps the screen a few times, then gives Michael a crestfallen look, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ to him before he turns the screen towards him and Valenti.

“And those are…?” Valenti asks. 

“Those would be heat signatures inside the building.”

Michael feels the last of his hope fading, crushed as the last pieces of his denial collapse. Fuck, he really had been hoping that Flint was being a deceiving bastard, but it looks like he can’t even count on a treacherous Manes to behave as intended.

“So he wasn’t lying,” Michael says darkly. “There are aliens here, still.”

“What do we do?” Valenti asks. “We’re not prepared for this. We’re here to do recon, not carry out a rescue mission!”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Alex admits. “Flint sent a message five minutes ago, I just got it decoded using the key that worked on his last email. Jesse’s spooked, he knows we’re investigating this place and he wants to move all the subjects and the weapons to a secondary site, and it’s one that Flint doesn’t have access to because Jesse put up a Chinese wall. If he moves everything, we’re sunk unless we find out where that other one is and who knows what he could do in the time it takes us to figure it out.”

“Then, I guess we make do,” Michael admits, staring at the looming prison complex in front of them. Valenti nods, like that’s all he needs, and starts walking towards the prison.

That day in the grocery store, Jesse Manes had scared Michael into feeling like a boy. Standing here in the shadow of one of Jesse’s pet projects, that fear comes barrelling back, but it’s different. This time, it feels like it could crush him whole and take his family with him, but he doesn’t have a choice.

For so long, he and Alex have run away. 

If they want to make a difference, that’s not an option here.

“If this gets to be too much…” Alex says, holding out a hand for Michael’s. 

Michael reaches out to take Alex’s hand, squeezing it to give himself the support he needs, and moving to follow after Valenti’s lead. “It doesn’t matter,” is what he says. “We don’t have a choice, you said it. It’s today or nothing, and that means what I want doesn’t fucking matter.” 

With the choice between a perfect recon and an okay rescue, he’ll take the latter as long as everyone gets out alive. 

Now, he’s just got to figure out how to do that. 

No pressure.

* * *

Ten years ago in the cave, Michael felt like he was in a horror movie and that he had no control of his fate. He hasn’t felt like that since, but stepping into Caulfield brings him right back to that helpless, horrifying feeling. 

“Michael, are you okay?” Alex asks, resting a hand on his shoulder when Michael comes to a stop a few feet outside the side doors of the prison.

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ever since we got within a mile, my head’s been a mess,” he confesses, waving a hand towards his temple like he’s searching for the right word to describe the never-ending harrowing, haunting echo that keeps resonating in his brain. “Imagine a few dozen people screaming in exhausted torment and that’s kind of what’s going on up here.”

Valenti stops, a few steps ahead of him, doubling back at that. “Wait, you can feel them? You’re psychic?”

“My very own Jedi,” Alex praises, rubbing Michael’s back and pressing a kiss to his temple. 

He’s trying, he really is, but Michael can see the concern on Alex’s face and how this is wearing on him, too. 

“Come on,” Michael says, because the sooner they get inside and deal with what’s making them scream in anguish, the sooner his head will stop hurting. 

Alex grabs his tablet and brings up the blueprints while Michael unlocks the door with his powers. Valenti creeps forward to open it, gun up and at the ready. He’s not sure when they developed this unspoken agreement to defend him, but he’s in the middle of them, with both Alex and Valenti watching out for him.

Maybe that one came about the minute they realized they’re walking into a prison for aliens and Michael’s roaming free. 

“This is the main area,” Alex murmurs, expanding the blueprints with two fingers on his tablet. “Most of the subj...aliens,” he corrects himself, looking chagrined and like he’s been scalded because he almost called them _subjects_ , “they’ll be down here.” 

Valenti nods and adjusts his grip on his pistol, continuing to clear the hall as they move.

“Michael, I know I’ve asked you this a half a dozen times, but…”

“No, I’m not okay with this,” Michael cuts Alex off, ready to stop being asked. “I’m not ready, but I have to do this.”

They follow Valenti’s lead and what strikes Michael is how eerily quiet it is. No one’s speaking, and the quiet hum of the prison makes it feel like no one’s even moving. If he hadn’t seen the heat signatures on Alex’s device, he wouldn’t believe that anyone is alive in here, because there hasn’t been a single sign of life as far as he can tell.

Then, they round a corner and find themselves in a cell block.

“Oh my god,” Valenti exhales in horror. 

Michael freezes, and he can’t move. Left and right, there are cells of them. Older people, pacing like they’re caged animals in a zoo, barely paying attention to the fact that they’re even there. He closes his eyes tightly, but when he opens them, he’s still stuck in this nightmare, horrified that this has been here as long as it has. 

He sees Alex waiting for him, a torn look on his face, and Michael’s been married to him long enough to know what he’s thinking.

“Don’t apologize,” he warns. “This wasn’t you. This is all Jesse,” he snarls, and forces himself to keep moving. If they do this right, none of these people will be stuck in their cages for much longer, but that means Michael has to toughen up to make that happen. 

He manages to stumble a few steps closer to Alex, like a child taking his first steps, but then Michael makes the mistake of looking to his left. 

He freezes. 

There’s a woman there inside the cell directly in his view. 

He’s seen her before. Hasn’t he?

Suddenly, it’s like his whole world focuses to a single tunnelled focus, just one person. He forgets about Alex a few steps away. He forgets about the other prisoners. 

There’s only her. 

“I know you,” he says, and drifts towards the cell door. The old woman shifts slightly on her cot, giving Michael a better look at her face. She looks so sad, as if she’s spent decades crying in this tiny room, and Michael suddenly wants to tear the place apart with his bare hands. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s not all his rage and that some of it is hers, channeled through his mind. 

“Michael?”

Michael can hear Alex, but he has no idea where he is, because he’s so fixated on this woman. 

He steps forward, not quite at the door yet, but feeling like his feet are heavy with cement blocks. The rest of the prison has faded from his mind. He can hear Alex and Valenti talking softly about their plans, but it’s a haze to Michael, who can only focus on this old woman in the cell in front of him.

“Michael, I’m going to the control room to get access to the cameras,” Alex says, kissing his cheek as he drifts into his immediate view because of his proximity. “Valenti’s going to go down the next hall, but he’s in earshot. If something happens, shout, but don’t touch the doors. If we break them, it’ll trigger the self-destruct sequence. I need to shut it down and get control of the cameras.”

Michael gives a soft noise of assent.

“I need to hear you say that you understand,” Alex insists, pleading with Michael.

“I won’t break the doors, Alex,” he says, but he does step closer to this one. He presses his splayed fingers out against the glass, watching as the woman carefully shuffles to join him. He hears Alex’s departing footsteps, then Valenti’s, leaving him alone.

Out here, he’s a sitting duck.

If anyone happened on him, they’d get a clean shot, because Michael’s world has shrunk to the woman in front of him. 

“Who are you?” he asks her. “I know you, who are you?”

She’s mouthing something to him, but he can’t make it out. She taps on the glass, lifts her hand, and encourages him with a nod to do the same. He doesn’t have to move his hand very far before it slides over hers, as if they fit perfectly despite the glass separating them.

Something nudges against his mind like a soft whisper. It’s a tap at the door, and he thinks it’s her, asking for permission. Nodding, Michael relents, gives her access and permission to share anything she wants with him.

He closes his eyes as an onslaught of memories washes over him, too fast to slow down and pick apart, but there’s an overwhelming sense of love and care, that this woman would do anything to protect him. 

When he opens his eyes in his mind, she’s younger and so’s he, a child staring adoringly up at a mother who would do anything for him. She’s holding him close, whispering bedtime stories to him, pointing out the stars. She’s telling him that she loves him.

She loves him, she loves him with all her heart, he’s brave and sweet and smart and...

Mom. She’s his _Mom_.

“ _Michael_ ,” she whispers in his mind, “ _My baby, my brave, sweet, smart boy._ ”

He opens his eyes, startled back to reality, but he doesn’t move his hand. Hers is glowing and even through the glass, it’s still connecting them. In a hurry and without speaking a single word aloud, he tries to explain what they’re doing there, that they’re going to rescue her and get her out. She sends curious pings of emotion through the connection.

She asks about Alex, she asks about Valenti, and then she asks about the plan.

“Husband, irritating not quite brother in-law, and we’ve got help on the inside,” he replies out loud, seeking out her approval and knowing that he doesn’t intend to leave this place unless she’s free, too. He might not have an exact plan, but he knows it in that moment.

He doesn’t go until she’s free.

She nods, satisfied with his answers, and then begins to flood his mind with more. 

He can tell that she’s trying to give him the brief notes of a whole planet’s history, which Michael soaks up like an eager sponge. It should be dry and tedious, but he’s spent his whole life wanting to know about where he came from and she’s able to fill in the blanks.

He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t realize he’s not alone until he hears Alex calling his name, practically right beside him.

Jolting away from the glass, he feels guilty, almost like he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to be doing. In this case, that would happen to be not paying attention to his surroundings in an alien prison. 

“Hey,” Alex says, pressing a hand to the small of his back, either not caring about Michael’s lack of attention or not mentioning it. “We have the cameras,” he vows. “The self-destruct sequence is off, but Flint says that Jesse is here,” he warns. His words are frantic and tight, like he’s trying his best to hold onto his panic and not let it consume him. “We need to get to a safe spot and figure out what we’re doing with him before we can release everyone.”

“She’s my Mom, Alex,” Michael blurts out.

There are so many other things he should be occupied with. 

Jesse being here is bad -- _real_ bad, but Michael’s eyes are blurry with tears, staring at his mother and thinking of years lost, milestones missed, and all the things he never got to have. She’s suffered just as much, tortured and kept here away from her son.

They’ve both suffered so much tragedy, Michael almost feels as if somehow, it’s genetic -- like he was doomed from the start because it was written in their DNA. 

Alex lets out a soft sound of relief as he turns towards her, glancing to Michael in awe, and then it almost looks like he’s _nervous_. He tangles his hand up in Michael’s, approaching her cell with a nervous look. “Ma’am, I’m Alex Guerin,” he introduces himself. “We’re working on a way to get you out of here and it’s going to happen, but I need to get Michael to safety,” he pleads. “If my father finds us…”

She nods with a purposefully sharp bob of her head, giving him permission.

Alex exhales, pushing air out of his cheeks as he turns back for Michael. “Come on,” Alex encourages, pulling at Michael’s jacket, wrapping an arm around his hip to get him moving, “We need to get out of here before…”

“Going somewhere, boys?”

The blood drains from Michael’s face when he hears Jesse Manes’ voice behind them. Why is it that he can always catch them off guard? Michael can feel Alex crowding Michael behind his back, but his stubbornness kicks in and he fights to push in front of Alex, trying to defend him.

Jesse’s ambling towards them like it’s a casual Sunday stroll and it makes Michael loathe him with an even deeper seething hatred. 

“What is this place for?” Alex demands. 

Michael hates that they’re even attempting to get a straight answer from him instead of bolting. They need to get Valenti and figure out what they’re doing to get rid of Jesse. Maybe Flint has some ropes or something they can tie him up with.

That is, if Flint really is on their side. He wouldn’t put it past one of the Manes boys to take after Jesse and be a dirty double-crossing bastard. 

“This, Alex? This was supposed to be your legacy. I should have known when you suddenly vanished at that school that you were throwing it away,” Jesse accuses. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt, thinking that once you were done with your education, you’d follow in your family’s footsteps, but you were deceiving me the whole time, in league with the enemy, seduced by them.”

Michael bites back a dozen comments about how he didn’t need to seduce Alex, just love him, but he stays quiet, holding Alex back from charging his father. 

“Michael Guerin doesn’t love you, Alex. It’s incapable of love.”

Alex scoffs. “Do you hear yourself?” he challenges. “The only person around here _incapable_ of love is you,” he spits out. “You were beating me black and blue long before I ever met Michael. How are you planning on blaming aliens for that one, Dad? I thought I got rid of you. I got you out of Roswell, you just had to stay out.”

“And you did it so that you could be with a monster,” Jesse says. “I knew as soon as I saw Guerin back in town that it was only a matter of time before you’d join him. When I suddenly got new orders, I followed the trail. Left town long enough that you thought you had the upper hand, but I’m going to show you how dangerous they are, Alex. I’ll prove that they are creatures of violence and hatred. It’s time for you to join the right side, Alex.”

Jesse raises his gun, aiming it at Michael’s chest. 

“This is your last chance, Alex. Choose your family and inherit your legacy or I’ll do it for you.”

The gun is aimed right at his heart. 

When Jesse pulls the trigger, it’ll be a clean shot through his heart. Panicked, Michael shouts in alarm, trying his hardest to move the gun in Jesse’s hand away, but something is preventing him from using his powers the way he normally could. Sensing his panic, Alex _acts_ \-- he shoves Michael to the side out of harm’s way and steps into the bullet’s path, a defiant shout ringing through the prison.

“No!”

The sudden movement affects Jesse’s aim, his shock at Alex’s defiant move shifting the gun lower when he pulls the trigger, but not low enough.

Michael sobs loudly, watching the bullet strike through Alex’s right knee, sending him to the ground. Whatever had been holding back his powers seems to break open as rage swarms in him. He lets out a broken, “No!” and screams as he flings both hands out, sending Jesse stumbling back, the gun falling to the ground.

He’s still nowhere near as powerful as he should be. Something is dampening it, but it gives him the chance to crawl to Alex’s fallen side, grabbing at him and looking him over, looking at where the bullet has pierced through his knee, blood puddling beneath him as Alex stares at the wound in shock. 

“Alex,” he pleads. “Alex,” he sobs a moment later, cupping his pale cheek.

He’s never wished for the ability to heal than he feels in this one moment.

“What happened, I heard a gunshot and, whoa…” Valenti staggers to a stop, returning from his investigation of the other halls. “Holy shit.” Valenti’s leading with a hand on his gun, drawing it out as he advances in a hurry. He carefully side-steps towards Michael and Alex, standing in front of them to provide a barrier. Jesse’s still staggering back for his gun as he does. Michael trusts Valenti to watch out for them, allowing Michael to pull his jacket off, balling it up to put pressure on the wound, cupping Alex’s neck to give something between him and the hard, cold concrete of the ground.

“Kyle. I’m glad you’re here to take up your father’s mantle.”

Valenti’s frozen in place, like he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. If he spits in Jesse’s face, it’d be a sweet kind of victory, but it would take away their upper hand, and from the way Alex is squeezing Michael’s forearm, he should probably let this play out. 

“My father’s mantle? What did my father have to do with this place?”

“He was my partner. Jim Valenti and I, we all knew that there was something in this town that wasn’t right. We inherited Caulfield from our forefathers, and we brought in others that understood the threat, like Mimi DeLuca. My son has proven that he’d rather be with them. What about you?”

“Valenti!” Flint shouts from the upper landing, racing down the steps towards them. 

Jesse’s face lights up with delight. “Speaking of obedient sons,” he says, glaring down at Alex like he intends to rub salt in the wound when he’s already writhing in pain on the ground. Michael levels a furious stare at Flint, cradling Alex protectively in his arms as he fights his instincts to get in the way. If Jesse thinks Flint is here to even the numbers, he’s got another thing coming. 

Alex grabs at his collar, pulling him down towards him on the ground. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “It’s okay, he showed me the videos. It’s okay.” 

What _videos_? What did Alex see?

“You should know what happened to your father,” Flint says, speaking directly to Valenti over Jesse’s shoulder, as if he doesn’t exist. He digs out his phone and presses a button. 

The moment Flint moves his thumb from the phone, a buzzing noise echoes through the cell block.

Every single cell door in the facility unlocks. The doors swing open.

“Flint, what are you doing?” Jesse demands, gripping his pistol as he turns it between Michael, Valenti, and Flint, who’s holding out the tablet for Valenti, a video playing that has low sound. 

Michael can only hear scraping, shuffling, and muted voices, but he doesn’t need to see what’s on it to know that it’s bad news given the way Valenti reacts. The blood drains from his face and he nearly drops his gun, adjusting his grip as he stares in horror at the video, all while aliens from around them begin to approach, causing Jesse to flail and lose his focus. 

Every single person in this room wants Jesse Manes dead.

It’s the best club Michael’s ever been a part of.

“You thought you could blackmail me. You know the mistake you made, Dad? You had your finger in too many pies,” Flint accuses. “Sending me to work with Jenna, holding her sister over her head. Did you ever stop to think that maybe we’d figure out that we’re not each other’s enemy and that we should work together against you? I’ve been waiting _years_ to do this. Years.” 

“Flint,” Jesse pleads; gone is the preaching and the superiority.

Michael can hear the panic and the pleading. He lost and he knows it. He has no sons left to persuade to his side. He’s alone.

“What do we do with him?” Flint asks, staring at Jesse where he’s standing at gunpoint, pinned by both Valenti and Flint on opposite sides. Alex tries to sit up, but Michael gives him a sharp look and mutters under his breath to lie back down. As much as he knows Alex wants to be a part of this, he’s hurt. Besides, Michael still can’t figure out who gets to make this call and no one’s jumping to claim that they’re in charge. 

Michael isn’t sure who gets to own this decision. 

Jesse Manes did _something_ to Valenti’s father.

He’s hurt Flint and Alex for _years_. 

He’s been torturing Michael’s family for _decades_. 

“He’s not leaving,” says Valenti with icy firmness, so that’s one for team Stop Jesse. “He killed my father. He _pushed_ him into one of those cells, after torturing these people. He killed my father.” 

Well, Michael can guess as to what’s on that video, now.

Michael glances up at Valenti, almost impressed at the steel in his voice, but that’s where it ends. The panic sets in, and it looks like he doesn’t know what to do from there, so as far as Valenti is concerned, they’re going to trade one set of prisoners for another. 

“He’s not leaving,” Flint agrees, glancing at Alex. “You know what was on that video. You know what he’s capable of and what he’s done to your in-laws.”

“I do,” Alex agrees, his breath shaky as he lets out another pained cry when he attempts to sit up and it jostles his right leg. “What are you suggesting?”

Flint’s gaze slides to Valenti. “An eye for an eye?”

“Look, I might be trained to put six bullets center mass in ten seconds, but I draw the line at shooting a man while the cameras are off,” Valenti says, and Michael’s fucking disappointed that he doesn’t have a gun in his hands or Jesse would be down. Valenti stares at Flint, like he’s not sure what he’s saying. “Or do you mean…”

Valenti’s words are drowned out by a sudden scream of agony. 

“I guess that takes away the decision,” Alex bites out, which reminds Michael to apply more pressure to his wound, because he can hear the pain in his voice.

Michael’s not sure he believes what he’s seeing. 

He’s gone through a lot of trauma today, but he’s pretty sure he’s looking at an older alien with both hands on Jesse’s temples, a look of vindictive pleasure and pride on his face as he bears Jesse down to his knees. The man had come from behind them, released from a cell labelled N-38, and his path bore him straight towards Jesse while they bickered over Jesse’s fate.

“That’s the one,” Flint says under his breath. “That’s the one from the video, the one who gave Jim the tumor.”

Jesse hasn’t stopped screaming. It should be agonizing to hear, it should be torture, but Michael thinks that there’s something deep and dark and wrong inside of him, because the whole time, he’s _glad_. 

That man has spent Alex’s lifetime hurting him and keeping them away from Roswell, from a place where Michael’s family has settled, and he’s tired of it. Michael reaches out to stop Valenti from charging forward, both because he doesn’t want him to get hurt and because he wants to let the alien finish the task.

It’s not much longer, now. Michael’s sick and vicious vindication feels _good_ as the screams die away, replaced by a death throttle coming from Jesse’s throat. Whatever had been done to Jim Valenti is nothing compared to what just happened to Jesse Manes.

Jesse’s body crumples to the ground. The alien they’d called N-38 studies him, ensures he’s not moving, and then retreats back towards his cell, almost as if he knows how dangerous he is, and that his one vengeful task has been completed. 

He sits, calmly, hands folded over his lap as he bows his head. 

“Holy shit,” Alex ekes out, like even his own pain is secondary to what they just witnessed.

“I’m calling everyone else,” Valenti says, sounding shaky. “They should be here, we need to figure out what to do about this place together.” 

For once, Michael is in agreement. There’s no way that he wants the aliens to go back to being in a prison, but they’re old, they’ve been tortured, and there’s no telling what would happen if they reintroduced them into society. He watches Valenti on the phone, as he crouches with Alex to keep helping by putting pressure on the wound. 

The aliens around him aren’t going anywhere, Michael realizes. With their freedom, they’re seeking out one another, and he gives Alex a pleading look as he asks for permission. 

“Go,” Alex says, “Maybe not too far, but go.”

He doesn’t drift very far. He heads straight for his mother, who puts a hand on his shoulder, gentle and almost frail. That’s going to take a whole lot of getting used to. He has a mother. He has a mother and he’ll be able to see her anytime.

“Mimi,” he says suddenly, the pain in his head vicious. His mother gives him an apologetic look, her hand pressed over her heart, like she hadn’t realized how her powers would act outside of the dampening of the rooms. He doesn’t get it, but, “She wants us to make sure that Mimi comes too.”

Valenti looks confused, but nods as he steps aside with his phone to make another call.

Turning back, he gives his mother a steady nod to promise that they’re going to do it.   
“Max and Isobel,” he says, thinking of the idea of them in his mind. “Are their parents here?”

His mother shakes her head, a sad look on her face, so that means that not every alien that came to Earth is here. 

Now that she’s out, he desperately wants to hug her, but he’s scared. He tangles up his fingers with hers, holding his Mom’s hand, and he sends the request through their connection. He doesn’t want to hurt her and he’s nervous that whatever torture she’s been through will make her averse to it, but he doesn’t need to worry.

She grabs at his hands, hauling him in. There’s no glass wall between them and she scoops him up in her arms, while Michael bends down to let her do whatever she likes in order to collect him and hold him close, her baby boy in her arms. 

It’s everything he’s been looking for, and he basks in it as long as he can before he puts his own selfish needs aside. His lower lip is trembling and he clings to her, sobbing against her shoulder. 

“Mom,” he ekes out, decades of emotion and loss pouring out. “I missed you,” he says, easing back as pieces of her clothing stick to the spit on his mouth from his messy crying. 

She cups his cheek and strokes his face, a tender mother’s touch, and if it weren’t for the fact that his husband is currently bleeding on the floor, he’d never leave that touch. Alex is, though, and Michael’s been worrying ever since Jesse fired the shot.

His mother seems to understand, too, nudging him back towards Alex, mentally sending him a message that she’ll take care of their people until the others arrive. 

She tells him that they’ll have time soon, and that she expects a proper introduction to her son-in-law now that they can be face to face. 

“Flint,” Michael barks out roughly. “Take care of them, get them food and water, let them sit.”

“Already on it,” Flint promises. “Just called in my own reinforcements.”

Exhausted, Michael turns to find his tether, stumbling back to Alex’s side. The noise around them continues and he’s happy to let the aliens have their reunion, but his husband is hurt (again), and Michael can focus on the happy family part of this when he’s sure he’s going to have a happy and whole family tomorrow.

“Alex,” Michael says, once he’s back on the ground with him, ignoring the chaos around them. “Alex, hey, come on, stay with me, okay? Are you okay?” he asks, gently laying him back on the ground while Michael reaches for his jacket to pry it from Alex’s hands and press it to the bullet wound again. He laughs, nervously, and stares at the blood as it seeps through the material. “Fuck, at this rate, you’re gonna owe me a whole new wardrobe if you keep bleeding through it all.”

Alex’s laugh is barely more than a sob, and he presses his forehead to Michael’s shoulder. “I’ll keep it in mind for Christmas.”

Michael laughs, even if it aches to do it. Alex has been hurt so many times in the last few months and so much of it has been his fault. They should have taken off and found their own home when Max decided to come back here, but he’d chosen to stay with his family and let Alex come back to him.

He’s not doing that anymore.

“When this is over, I think we should leave Roswell,” Michael says quietly, rubbing his forehead against Alex’s. 

“Michael, your family…”

“You’re my family, Alex,” Michael vows. “They are, too, but we can come back and visit. They don’t need us now, not always. Isobel’s strong, she knows what happened. Max has Liz, and we freed my family,” he says, staring at the prison around them. 

He doesn’t know what happens next with this place or the aliens, but he knows what he wants for him and Alex. “You mean it,” Alex murmurs, in awe.

“We’ve always talked about California, right? Maybe this is the time.” 

Alex’s face crumples with relief as he nods and it instantly makes Michael feel miserable that he’s put them through all of this. Worse, he also knows he wouldn’t trade it for the world, because it’s given Isobel the peace of mind she needs about her blackouts and without returning to Roswell, he never would have found Caulfield and the rest of his family.

It’s time to stop living in the past, though. 

“Let’s talk about it again later,” Alex says. “I think it’s a good idea, but that could just be the blood loss talking.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, feeling drained and dazed and half delirious, all at once. He presses his forehead to Alex’s, trying to remind himself that they won today. They can figure out their next steps tomorrow, because winning doesn’t mean that the fight is over, it just means they can finally stop looking over their shoulder. “I love you,” he murmurs, because it needs to be said. He probably doesn’t say it enough, but he knows he’ll change that.

These last few months, he’s almost lost Alex three times and every one of them comes down to Michael. It’s shown him that he can’t love Alex the way he does and expect that he’ll always get a second chance.

No. It’s time for Alex and their life to come first. 

It’s time that Michael chooses himself and the family he built, even if he’s just re-discovered the one he crash landed with.

* * *

“We’re going to have a talk about this.”

Max laughs as he lets his head fall back on the pillow, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s still sweating, and the way the sun spills into the bedroom isn’t helping to cool him down. He tips his head to the side and sees the handprint he’d put on Liz’s body in the midst of round two. 

Or, at least, he thinks it had been round two.

Liz plays with the handprint, her fingers gently sliding around each curve of fingertips. 

“What?” Max teases, grasping Liz’s hips so he can grab her and spin them around, bearing her down to the sheets. “You don’t like a little reminder of the event?” Through their connection, he sends a flicker of memory of her laugh, his touch, and both their pleasure.

That seems to get Liz to reconsider, biting her lip as she looks up at him playfully. 

“Maybe I could get used to it.”

Max slides down to start pressing a line of kisses against her soft skin, warmed by how close she’s been pressed with Max all night. When his lips brush against the glowing handprint on her belly, she squirms at the touch, biting her lip like she’s trying to keep a noise in, but Max really wants to draw it out.

“Don’t,” she warns. “I’m ticklish.”

It’s the completely wrong thing to say as he starts pressing feather-light kisses to her skin that makes her squirm, giggling endlessly as she tries to grab him by the hair and push him away. It’s a futile effort, one that she’s barely trying, because Max is able to keep pressing soft kisses to her stomach, basking in the soft draw of breath every time she inhales, and then forms his name when she pushes that breath out. 

“I thought about your offer,” Liz tells him, absently petting his head, her fingers sliding through his hair. “I don’t know if you’re going to want me around as much as a study would require, but if you were serious about it, then so am I.”

“I was serious,” Max vows. “There’s no one that I want to work on a project more than with you, especially if it means you don’t go back to Colorado.” He closes his eyes at the touch to his hair, feeling overly sensitive. “I also don’t want to hold you hostage. This is your choice, Liz,” he vows. “I just know that I’m definitely serious about it. I think we’re a good team. Don’t you?”

“Oh, I think we just proved why our teamwork is the best,” Liz guarantees with a mock-serious nod of her head, squeezing his ass teasingly. 

Max grins as he starts to slide down her body with kisses, intent on proving why teamwork makes the dream work, when his cell phone starts buzzing on the nightstand beside him. 

It’s way too early in the morning for it to be anything but the hospital calling or something worse, which instantly sets off a wave of anxiety. 

“Don’t answer it,” Liz pleads. 

“It might be work. And if it’s not, Michael was going to that prison to investigate, maybe he found something,” Max says apologetically. If Michael’s calling him so early in the morning with news, then it _really_ can’t be good. Grabbing his phone, he sits in in shock when he sees all the SOS texts that he’d missed while he was with Liz. “Shit,” he hisses, picking up. “Michael?”

“It’s Valenti, Michael’s busy and I didn’t know your number.”

“Okay,” Max says warily. “Is he okay? Is everyone safe?”

There’s a disturbingly long pause before Valenti answers with, “We’re all alive.” 

That’s not really the question he asked. “Valenti,” Max growls. “What the hell is going on?”

“Get here. Now. I’ll explain everything once you’re here. Bring Isobel and Liz, and Maria.”

That doesn’t sound good. “Wait. What here? Are you guys still at Caulfield?”

“It definitely wasn’t abandoned,” Valenti says in a rush. Max can hear muted conversation behind him, a language that he both doesn’t understand and yet somehow _knows_ , and he doesn’t need three guesses to figure out what it is they’re going to walk into. “Seriously, start driving, now.”

Max opens his mouth to ask what the situation is, but Valenti hangs up before he can. Gaping at the phone, he’s not sure how to register what happened, but it sounds like he needs to prepare for the worst case scenario.

“Things went bad,” Max says, when Liz makes a soft enquiring noise. “We should pack some supplies, but we need to get Isobel and Maria and meet them there.” 

Liz gives him an alarmed look, yanking on a sweater and pushing her hair off the back of her neck as she ties it up in a ponytail. It takes Max a stupid amount of time to realize that she’s wearing one of his UNM sweaters, which has him stupid and speechless, gaping at her. 

She approaches, tapping him under his chin. “Max,” she chides gently. “What happened?”

“He didn’t say,” Max says darkly, which means that it’s got to be bad. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” he directs, yanking old clothes and rags from under the bed to start shoving them into a duffel alongside his medical equipment. Liz hands him the kit. “Thanks,” he says, and keeps working to pack it to the brim, imagining every possible worst case scenario. 

He’s in the middle of grabbing blood transfusion equipment (just in case) when his cell rings again.

“Yeah?”

“Bring Mimi too.”

“Mimi?” Max echoes, giving Liz a confused look when Liz mouths a question about why they need to bring her. “Why?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, I’m just following orders here. Get here, bring Mimi, and a lot of acetone.” Valenti lets out a ragged sigh, mumbling something out of Max’s hearing, then there’s a shuffling as he returns to the phone. “Michael told me to tell you that whatever you think a lot of acetone means, bring twice that, and your kit. Alex is hurt. Fuck, this whole day is a nightmare,” he mutters, sounding like he’s ready to pull his hair out. 

“Valenti. Valenti, don’t hang up, tell me what’s…!”

It’s no use. Valenti hangs up again and Max does the same, throwing his phone onto the bedspread so he can grab at his hair, staring at Liz with a lot of confusion and dread as he pulls on it. She’s been finishing up with the kit and zips it up, foisting it over to him. 

“I’ll call Rosa and get her to bring Maria and Mimi to us. You get Isobel,” she coaxes. “We’ll be out of here in twenty minutes, tops.”

Max nods, even if he’s stunned with confusion. Liz leans in to kiss him on the lips and it makes him sway backwards, trying to process what it is they’re going to be walking into. 

There’s no sense playing the worst-case scenario game, though. 

He grabs his phone and calls Isobel. The fact that she picks up after a single ring means that she’s worried too, and Max realizes that Valenti hasn’t been home the whole time and he’d been due back hours ago. “What? What is it?” she demands. “Is he okay? Max?”

“I just talked to him and he and Michael are both still alive, but they need us,” Max promises, leaning over to grab the second bag on the bed. “Be ready to go, bring acetone,” he warns. “Valenti didn’t give me the whole story, so I don’t know what we’re walking into.”

He doesn’t tell her about Valenti saying that things went bad. Michael’s alive, Valenti’s okay, and that’s all he needs to know. It’s a few hours to get to the site and there’s no sense in both of them worrying the whole way. 

Let that be Max’s job, as the older sibling.

“I’ll be ready in five,” she says. “Get here,” she barks at him. “Now.”

Lucky for her, Max isn’t in a mood to disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're one away, and that'll be Wednesday. So, for the last time, one last sneak peek:
>
>> When he first left Alex in here, he could have sworn that it wasn’t overgrown with flowers, but he’s pretty sure the place exploded with bouquets. Eyeing Rosa and Maria, neither of them seem to want to look at him. “Do I want to know whose credit card these are on?”
>> 
>> “Nope,” Maria says.
>> 
>> At the same time as Rosa says, “Kyle’s continued apology to Alex.”


	13. From This Moment On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cavalry arrives at Caulfield to determine the future for the institution and the aliens inside, Alex gets his knee fixed, and the pod squad starts looking forward to their futures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I cannot thank my beta readers enough. Tove and Crystal, you both made sure that this thing got finished. You helped expand it when it didn’t make sense, fed me excitement when I wanted to share, and helped talk through the highs and lows. You are my heroes and I genuinely am so indebted to you. 
> 
> As a general reminder, I finished this fic in the early pieces of the season, so some of the canon may no longer line up, but given that this is a rewrite and role swap, we’ll just pretend that some of the canon background pieces also swapped.

It takes two hours and eleven minutes before the cavalry arrives at the Caulfield site. 

Max has been checking his watch every few minutes of the drive, frantic to get there after finding another slew of panicked voicemails and texts from Michael, begging for them to get there faster. Rosa’s back home holding down the fort with the files, in case they need intel and to keep the files safe from whatever they’re walking into, and the rest of them are en route. They’ve broken a ridiculous amount of traffic laws, with Isobel driving with Maria and Mimi while Max and Liz follow behind. 

Barely, seeing as Isobel keeps accelerating and almost losing them.

“Did she always have this much of a lead foot?” Liz complains. 

“We don’t talk about Isobel’s driving lessons,” Max says, which is his way of agreeing without saying something that could get him in trouble with Isobel later. There’s definitely a reason that Ann decided to enlist a driving school to help Isobel after the first few lessons, that’s all he’s saying.

He has to speed faster than he’s ever pushed his car before and he’s praying the early hour means that no one is going to pull them over, but they manage to make it to the coordinates Valenti sent without a ticket or an accident. The relief that accompanies arriving safely vanishes as soon as they see the prison looming above them. 

He slams the car into park, and not a moment too soon. The noise in his head gets so overwhelming as it crashes over him in a wave that Max almost passes out. It’s beyond anything he’s ever experienced before, a mass of _something_ he can’t exactly place invading his mind, a cacophony of noise that _hurts_. 

“Max? Max!” Liz shouts in alarm.

“Something’s happening here too,” Maria calls over from the other car. “Isobel’s catatonic, she just went blank.”

Max isn’t catatonic, but he has to struggle past the screaming to focus on Liz. He cups her cheeks with his hands, desperately holding onto her like a lifeline, and fixates on her eyes, her mouth, the concern on her face. That helps anchor him to the present. He reaches out to grasp hold of Liz’s hand, letting her pull him out of the car.

He stumbles towards the other one, poking his head in to find Isobel staring into space.

“Iz!” he calls out to her, voice rough. “It’s other aliens, focus on my voice, don’t let it drown you.” 

She mumbles something incomprehensible, but eventually starts clawing at Max’s forearms, like she’s been drowning and he’s her life preserver. “Max? Max, _Max_!”

“It’s me, I’m here, it’s okay,” he promises, trying to coax her out. “Stay with me, okay? I know it’s a lot.”

He’s overwhelmed and his predominant power isn’t psychic. Max can’t even imagine what she’s going through. 

Something in him tells him to keep moving, that if he stops, there’s going to be more of a problem. He hauls at Isobel’s arm to link her with him, willing to drag her if he has to. She’s still in shock, but Max has got one last card up his sleeve.

“Come on, Iz, Kyle’s inside,” he reminds her. 

That seems to do the trick. She shakes off the haunted look in her eyes, assuming a more purposeful stride as she decouples from Max’s hold. Her first steps are unsteady and shaky, but she pushes through, shouting for Kyle, bellowing out a warning that if he’s not okay, then she intends to kill him.

“That’s...sweet?” Maria suggests, as she carefully helps Mimi out of the car, pressing a hand to her necklace while Mimi stares at the prison with a look in her eye that Max might call grief, if he didn’t know any better. 

Max doesn’t really know what to think about Isobel’s relationship with Valenti, but he’s willing to be more optimistic about it than Michael’s been (him and Liz reconnecting definitely helps him to be so charitable). “Things with Noah got pretty dicey,” he admits. “I think she’s scared of losing him as soon as she’s found him. Can I help?” he offers, watching as Mimi wanders around, touching the brambles and the desert plants that grow around them.

“We’ll catch up with you,” Maria insists. “They need you, Dr. Evans. Go.”

“Come on,” Liz encourages gently, pulling at his hand. 

He lets her pull him onwards, following as she hauls open the thick prison door, grateful that she doesn’t make him talk. Even though he’s found some kind of controlled space, it’s like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice and he might topple over at any moment. He needs to focus. He needs to avoid that pull of emotion yanking him in, sending him back to that state.

The truth is, Max isn’t sure what he’s expecting to walk into. Chaos is expected, but when he does walk in and the _noise_ and the emotion slam into it, it still overwhelms his ability to think beyond his struggle to keep control of his powers. It’s taking everything in him not to sink right back into that catatonic mindspace. 

It’s not only noise in his head inside. It’s audible, dozens of people talking (some in a language he doesn’t understand), and Max stares down at the mass of people from the platform above. These people, aliens, look fragile and old, but the emotions cascading from their minds are unmistakably relief and happiness. The noise isn’t pain, he realizes. It’s joy.

He’s watching the reunion of people who haven’t been together in decades. Brothers, sisters, lovers, _family_ are all reuniting, pressed together in weeping embraces.

“Max,” Isobel breathes from where she’s stopped at a standstill beside him at the railing, reaching out for his hand as she squeezes tightly, her voice thick with tears. “It’s our people.”

Max feels strangely like he’s home thanks to the overwhelming surge of _love_ surging his way, but his relief and joy is cut short when he keeps searching the area below and sees Michael with Alex, and a whole lot of blood around them.

“Shit,” he exhales, giving Isobel an apologetic look because he knows where he’s needed. “I see Valenti. I’m gonna go check on Alex, okay?” he says, pointing to where Valenti is helping give some of the older aliens water, but then he’s barrelling down the grated stairs towards Michael. “What happened? Is this what Valenti meant when he wouldn’t tell us what’s going on?”

Alex is squirming, hissing, his pain evident not only from the way he looks, but so strong that Max can feel the psychic wave of it, as if the aliens in this place are amplifying it even from the humans.

“His asshole Dad shot him,” Michael complains sharply, adjusting his weight on his knees as he shifts to press more weight against the wound. 

“Alex, I can heal it,” Max insists.

Alex shakes his head, hissing as he shifts. “I don’t know much about your freaky alien abilities, but I’m pretty sure that bullet shattered my kneecap. Can you make those grow back?”

Max doesn’t think he can, and he gives Michael an apologetic look. 

Michael seems to get it. “Max, is he gonna bleed out?”

Max shakes his head. It looks nasty and Alex must be in an insane amount of pain, but it didn’t hit an artery. “No. I wouldn’t want to wait too long, but if we can get to a hospital, I can do the knee replacement.”

That seems to be enough for Michael. “Then we’ll stop the bleeding, and when we’re done here, you can do the surgery in a real hospital,” Michael says, sounding pragmatic and resigned at once. “We don’t need freaky alien skills to solve this problem, just a steady surgical hand.” He’s about to say something else, but stops suddenly, glancing over Max’s shoulder. “Liz, hey,” Michael greets her. “Can you take over?” 

“Of course,” Liz promises, and kneels down at Alex’s side once she’s taken the jacket out of Michael’s hands, taking his place. “What’d you get yourself into this time?” she teases Alex, even though her eyes are thick with tears.

“Oh, you know,” Alex breathes out shakily. “I heard that guys dig scars, I figured it was about time I got some to make sure my marriage stays fresh and spicy.” 

Max reaches out to grab Michael’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze as he helps Michael stagger to his feet, wanting to get his appraisal of what’s going on. 

“Did you bring Mimi?” Michael asks, after he gets Alex set up with Liz, gesturing to where she needs to put pressure on the wound. 

Max knows that Liz knows exactly what to do, so the fact that she doesn’t roll her eyes means maybe he ought to be more concerned about Alex’s condition. His own education tells him that they have some time before they need to get Alex to the hospital so it’s likely that Liz is just worried about her friend. Liz gives him a grave smile, but nods, mouthing ‘I’ve got this’ to give him permission to focus on the other concerns. 

“Whatever this place is, if the DeLucas are tangled up in it, my Mom wanted her here so maybe she knows something,” Michael says. He’s wringing his hands, like he can’t burn off his nervous and pained energy. 

Max gets it. 

If Liz had been the one who got shot, he’s pretty sure he’d level the place in rage, so Michael keeping it together is better than what he’d do. “Jesse was spouting on about her being a part of this.”

He’s advancing through the prison, but Max reaches out to stop him, not sure he heard that right. “Hey! Michael, wait. Your _Mom_?”

The way Michael’s face blooms with happiness is unlike anything Max has seen before. Maybe he’s like this with Alex, but in this moment, Michael is without pain and suffering. He’s a boy with a family, and he knows he’s loved. 

“Yeah,” he gets out, his voice breaking in disbelief as he looks down the hallway towards an older woman, who’s yet to take her eyes off Michael. 

The emotion in this place is insane, but even with that, Max can’t miss the love that he feels coming from her. Max grabs at Michael’s shoulder and hauls him in for a hug, feeling Michael’s wet laugh against his neck, like he’s so relieved to have found something he thought he’d lost permanently.

“I have a Mom,” Michael ekes out, his voice small and in disbelief. “She’s been here, she’s been waiting for me, Max, I…”

“It’s okay, bud,” Max says, clapping his hand on Michael’s back and easing back, his voice rough with the tears Michael’s emotions are bringing out through their connection. “I get it,” he promises, even as he searches the place for anyone who could be _his_ , though he knows it wouldn’t mean as much.

He’s had a mother’s love for two decades. Michael deserves it now. 

Michael clears his throat, shaking his head and throwing his curls in disarray as he tries to get a hold of himself. “It’s good you brought Mimi. Mom wanted her here for a reason,” he insists roughly. “She’s gotta know something, Max, she has to.”

“Michael, you’ve said it yourself before, her brain is…” Max trails off, careful not to speak too loudly about her condition, even if Mimi and Maria are still entering the fray and are out of earshot.

“Yeah.” Michael glances towards the cells that are now open, with aliens roaming out tentatively, though some of them have already gone back to their beds to sit down again, almost as if in a state of shock. “I don’t think you can bring a kneecap back, but I’m pretty sure you can undo the damage done to her brain.” 

Max thinks he understands what Michael is getting at, but he needs to say it out loud, because it sounds crazy.

“You want me to heal Mimi DeLuca’s mental trauma?”

“I don’t think it’s trauma,” he admits. “Look, maybe this is all wild speculation, but Jesse used an alien to get rid of Jim. Maybe he used one with Mimi. We both know Isobel can influence someone, maybe Jesse did the same with an alien. If he went in and caused physical harm and damage, then between you and Isobel…”

Isobel glances up when she hears her name, joining them with a wary look on her face. “You think Mimi will be on our side, if an alien made her brain into swiss cheese?”

“My Mom told me that we needed Mimi,” Michael says, shaking his head in disbelief, like he’s still getting used to saying that. “She wouldn’t have asked that we bring her here if it wasn’t for a reason.” 

“Michael, what about Max and me, our parents?” Isobel asks quietly. “Are they here?”

Michael glances away, shaking his head. “My Mom said they’re not here. I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t think they were imprisoned.” He’s on his tiptoes, straining to see over their shoulders, and he jumps a little and waves. “Good. Mimi’s here.” 

He bolts away to move to her side, talking to Maria and probably explaining the situation, which leaves Max to consider what Michael is asking. 

“Can we do this?” Isobel asks.

Max gapes at where Michael is talking to Maria. “...did you think we could do what we did to Noah?”

“Hell no,” Isobel scoffs. “We damn well did, though.”

Max exhales, running his fingers through his hair as he takes in the chaos around them.

Liz is still helping Alex with his wound while Valenti hovers nearby making sure the older aliens have water and food rations. The aliens look paralyzed by choice and fear (or fear of choice) and Michael is practically bouncing as he hurries back with Mimi and Maria. 

“This is the opposite of what we did in that cave,” he admits. 

“You brought Rosa back from the dead with my help,” Isobel says. “I’ve seen you work miracles like the creepy alien Jesus you are,” she teases, leaning up to give him a light nudge, sending him mildly off-balance before he goes back knocking against her side. “I’m ready to do this. Are you?”

Max gives Isobel an uncertain look. Doing this one time with Rosa doesn’t exactly make them experts. Still, her confidence in him means _something_ and Michael looking at him like he can do no wrong does a lot for his ego. Maria doesn’t look so sure, especially with how she’s holding onto her mother.

“I don’t know about this,” Maria says.

“Maria,” Michael pleads.

“It’s my _mother_ , Guerin!”

Max opens his mouth to make reassurances, but he doesn’t get there first. Isobel steps forward, reaching out to take Maria’s hand in hers. “I know I don’t like you much, but this is family and we don’t mess around. If I sense even the slightest thing going wrong, we stop. Worst case scenario, nothing changes,” she says.

“And the best case…?” Maria’s voice is soft, light, and hopeful.

“We give you Mimi back,” Max can at least make that vow for the best case. If all goes perfectly, then he can offer that, but he has no idea if that will happen. 

It’s a terrible choice, because the worst case scenario is something that she already has to live with on a daily basis. It’s something that might be even worse, now that she’s been given even a sliver of hope. And yet, that hope is bright and brilliant and radiant in the best case scenario and Max knows that anyone would be tempted. 

It looks like that temptation is enough for Maria, given the way she’s already nodding. “Okay,” she finally relents, helping Mimi to sit in a chair.

Mimi’s been dazed, staring around the prison with a wary eye, almost as if she’s seen it before. She’s silent, though, and when Max steps in front of her to take both her hands, she finally seems to clue in, clasping Max’s hands in her own.

“Dr. Evans,” she greets. “That boy of yours is such a terror.”

Assuming she means Michael, Max gives a gentle laugh. “We love him anyway,” he promises, and gives Isobel a nod to begin. She steps in and twines her fingers with his, resting her other palm on his shoulder to lend him the strength and the connection he needs to go into her mind and look for the damage.

The chatter around them has quieted to a hum and Max glances back to see several of the aliens stepping up behind them, some of them laying their hands on Max’s shoulder, some on Isobel’s.

It’s in support, he thinks.

Then, he realizes, that no. They’re communing with him to show him the way. He’s spent a decade learning human medicine and understanding how the body works. In a few short seconds, these aliens have started to illuminate how his powers do, and it’s supported with a warm wash of confidence.

These poor people have been tortured and made weak, but they’re joining together to make Max and Isobel strong, if only with their knowledge and their love. 

Once they’re inside Mimi’s head, Max closes his eyes and focuses on healing the damage, but what he finds isn’t anything like what he’d been expecting. He sets aside that shock for later, lets Isobel be his guide as they seize on each broken piece until it’s repaired and whole. If Max focuses on the tree and not the forest, he won’t get lost, and with the strength of their people helping, he knows they can do this. 

Finally, he thinks he has it. Each synapse, each hole, each malformation is undone. 

Max lets go of Mimi, staggering back as Isobel lets them out of her head. He’s never seen damage like that before, but he thinks that they’ve repaired the pathways. 

Mimi’s eyes are still closed and she’s humming under her breath, but that’s not exactly a sign one way or the other, which leaves Max feeling anchored with fear.

“Mom?” Maria asks, her voice trembling with hope as she drifts closer, kneeling in front of her mother. 

“Baby,” Mimi murmurs, her eyes opening as she cradles her to her side, stroking her cheek. “I wanted to keep you away from all of this, from Jesse Manes’ dark legacy and shadow over our family.” She presses a hand to the necklace around Maria’s neck. “I gave this to you to protect you from aliens because I feared what would happen if Jesse ever decided to use you as leverage against me.” She turns, staring at Michael and Max, to where Isobel is denying aid from one of the other alien prisoners. “I didn’t expect him to leave me out of it once I knew the truth.”

“What happened?” Max asks her. 

“I could tell that the darkness in Jesse was consuming him,” Mimi shares, “and it was only going to get worse. He started talking about bringing the next generation into the fold, but I’ve seen what he did to the people in this place, to my own family,” she says, a haunted shadow in her eyes. “I gave her the necklace, and then when I refused to do what Jesse wanted, he brought me to one of them. Told them that they could eat, after being starved for days, if they used their powers on me.”

Maria hugs Mimi tightly, like she’s scared to let her go, pressing kisses to her cheek, holding on so tightly.

“When I was in there, it was like something had snapped the synapses in your brain,” Max explains carefully. “Everything is where it belongs, but the connections weren’t working, like the alien had somehow...”

He trails off, not sure how to describe it.

“The alien that did it convinced your own brain to change the way it worked,” Isobel picks up the slack. “I can influence you to do something that you want, but whoever did this to you was able to do that on a subconscious level with your anatomy. It’s a freaky amount of power for one alien to have.”

Max isn’t sure he likes where this is going.

“Should we be letting them out?” Isobel asks warily. 

“They were starving, Iz,” Michael fiercely argues. “What these aliens did isn’t their fault. They’ve been kept captive, starved, tortured. Jesse Manes and his forefathers are the enemies here, but Flint and Alex have proven that they’re better than he is. They’re harmless if they’re not being hurt, I have to believe that.”

No one’s argued with him, but he whirls on Max, refusing to stop fighting.

“Max,” Michael pleads. “I was talking to my Mom. Or, not talking, I guess, but she brought me into her mind space while you guys were helping Mimi.” He still sounds in awe, like he doesn’t exactly believe that he’s got a mother. “She wants to know what we’re going to do with everyone. And before you even say it, we’re not locking them back in,” he says, before anyone can put that on the table.

Max can feel the weight of eyes on him, but the problem is, he doesn’t know.

“Does Alex have any ideas?” Max asks helplessly. “Or Flint?” 

“This tragedy didn’t only belong to the Manes.” Max glances up to see Mimi standing, striding towards them with a steadiness she hasn’t had in years, her voice strong. “The Valentis, the DeLucas, others in our town were all privy to this, and we sat back and we let Jesse take over and twist it into this dark thing because our forefathers couldn’t do anything to stop it. It’s not the legacy I want for my child, and I know it’s not what Jim Valenti wanted either,” she says, with her eyes fixed on Valenti.

Michael casts a confused look at Max, but he responds with a mirroring one. He’s not sure what that has to do with what they do next. 

“We’re going to give these people whatever we can of their lives back. There’s a lot of work to be done here,” Mimi says, eyeing the area around her. “The cell doors, for one. Luckily, all that money that Jesse’s been funnelling into experiments will serve just as well for redecorating.”

“Mom, what are you saying?” Maria asks warily as she returns, wrapping a blanket around her mother’s shoulders, as if she’s still expecting her to be in shock. 

“I’m staying here.”

Max glances towards Isobel and Michael, to see if they understand what she means, but they look every bit as clueless as Maria does. “What do you mean?” Maria prods. “What do you mean, you’re staying here?”

“This place needs a caretaker. Isobel isn’t wrong,” Mimi says quietly. “After what Jesse Manes has done to these poor souls, they can’t go back to a society that isn’t ready for them and they need care. They need help. They need me.” She reaches for Maria, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I won’t burden you with a legacy that you don’t want, but I could use my daughter’s help.”

Maria gapes at her, sputtering when she clearly doesn’t know what to say.

“This is really new to me,” she says. “I don’t know, Mom, I…” 

“You can think about it,” Mimi promises, cupping Maria’s cheek as she turns her gaze to the bright natural light spilling in from the windows, smiling like she can see it all settling into place.

Funny thing is, Max absolutely believes that she is seeing it. 

“This place needs a new name, too,” Mimi says. “Globemallow.”

Max gives her a confused look. “What?”

“We’re renaming this place. Globemallow. One of the most drought-tolerant species in the desert. It thrives, even in the harshest of conditions. This isn’t a prison, not anymore. At least, not when I’m done with it. Maybe,” she says, giving Maria a hopeful smile, “my daughter will help to transform it into something else, something a little more bright and warm.”

Michael scoffs, shaking his head. “Alien retirement home?”

“Bridge at five, dinner at six,” Maria jokes along with him, giving Mimi an overpoweringly bright and fond smile, even if her eyes are brimming with tears. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“You don’t have to miss me anymore,” Mimi assures. 

It feels like a private moment that they’re intruding on, and Max looks away while they talk. Michael’s already gone, bolted back to Alex’s side, and Isobel looks like she’s unnerved by even standing there. He gets it, though. The noise hasn’t exactly subsided and they just used their powers, exposing them like live wires.

“What do we do now?” Isobel asks Max. 

“I guess we let Mimi figure out what happens next here with Maria,” Max says, glancing to where Michael and Liz are helping to get Alex to his feet. “I need to get him to a hospital where we can do the operation and seeing as I think we’re looking at a knee replacement, that’s my next twenty-four hours.”

She’s fidgeting, nervous, but Max can see where her attention is fixed. Valenti looks shaken, too, but he seems to be putting his energy into helping other people. 

Maybe he really has become a good guy.

“He’s okay, Iz,” Max promises. “Probably shaken about learning this place exists, but I think that means he gets to join the club.” Valenti’s already headed outside, which means that maybe now’s not the time for a heart to heart. “Maybe later,” he suggests, “you two can talk about all of this, get on the same page.” 

She gives a small noise of assent, and that’s as good as Max thinks he’s going to get from her right now, so he gives Isobel one last half-hug before forcing his feet to move, getting him away from the prison and into the daylight.

His body is aching, his mind is numb, and even though he grabs a bottle of acetone to drink greedily from it, by the time he reaches the landing, one single flight of stairs has threatened to undo him. Liz has already moved ahead to prepare the cars and Max thinks he can see her on the horizon. 

Now that he’s outside, Max breathes in the air with relief, not realizing how heavy the weight of the aliens’ emotions had been until he’s stepped away from them. He can see Flint waiting a few steps ahead of him, squinting at the horizon where an SUV is turning towards the prison, kicking up dust in its wake. 

“Were we waiting on someone else?” 

No one says anything as the SUV parks, but Flint is the first to head towards it. “Good, she’s here,” Flint says happily, picking up the pace to head to the driver door of the SUV. Out steps Jenna Cameron, which Max definitely wasn’t expecting. 

Max gives Valenti an unsure look. 

“What’s your partner doing here?”

“I was kind of wondering the same thing,” Valenti admits, “I don’t know if I’m ready for more revelations.” They keep wandering forward, watching as Flint hurries the last few steps towards Jenna, pulling her into his arms.

It’s an embrace followed by a kiss, and judging from the look on Valenti’s face, that’s definitely something he hadn’t been expecting. 

“Is someone going to explain?” Valenti asks, flabbergasted. “Cameron, you knew about this place?”

“I have for years,” she says, giving him a challenging look like he’s the one who’s out of the loop because he didn’t.

Valenti sputters, shaking his head like he’s forgotten how to speak, gaping at her. “Wait, what? How…? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” she challenges, draping her arm around Flint’s shoulders. “This goes both ways, Valenti,” Jenna says, with a calm look towards Valenti. “You could’ve just asked for my help on the alien serial killer. I am your partner, but I guess I’m not your favorite blonde anymore,” she quips, with a look behind them where Isobel is helping Alex out of Caulfield with Michael on the other side. “Flint and I had been building a case for _years_ , with the files he got from the military. We just never thought the golden retriever lawyer was a real lead. We didn’t have the pieces together and he clearly wasn’t in a hurry to reveal himself for non-aliens.”

Max gets the feeling that their arrival in town and Isobel’s ignorance of Noah had pushed him to do a lot of stupid things. “So, when did this thing start?” he asks, gesturing between Flint and Jenna.

Flint gives her a fond smile, wrapping an arm around her waist as he leans in to give her a kiss at her temple.

“Dad sent me to get the files from the department a few years back so we could run our investigation,” Flint says.

“Yeah,” Valenti replies. “I know. I started making my own copies around the same time.”

“So did we,” Flint admits, giving Jenna a rueful smile. “It took us a few drinks to realize that Jesse was blackmailing her with her sister and me with a really stupid mistake I made in basic,” he says. “So we played along, pretended like we were on his side, while building up our own information. You three coming back helped reveal those last missing pieces we needed to get the upper hand,” he admits.

“We stopped a serial killer and I got rid of the shitty in-law,” Jenna jokes.

“Amen to that,” Michael mutters, from where he’s passing them with Alex supported on his arms. Max can see the strain on Michael’s face, which means he’s using his powers to help keep Alex supported on their way to the car. 

Max knows he should go and help, especially since he’s not letting the two of them go home. “Listen,” he says. “We need to…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jenna cuts him off. “Talk about it? Drinks at the Pony in a few days,” she says. “We’ll make sure everyone’s stories are straight. Go make sure Manes’ knee gets patched up.”

“It’s not Manes,” Max says, feeling suddenly protective of him. “It’s Guerin.”

Valenti gives him an approving nod and Jenna even looks faintly amused. Flint’s pride is practically radiating and Max thinks that if this thing works out between the two of them, he’ll be in a hurry to ditch the Manes name, too. 

It hasn’t done anything but cause them all pain and grief. 

Max might have more to say on that, but he sees Isobel approaching out of the corner of his eye, looking every bit as exhausted as he feels. Given that Valenti is right there, he steps back to let her have a direct line to him. 

“Hey,” Isobel murmurs as she approaches, rubbing her hand over Valenti’s arm. “Can we get out of here?” She’s holding onto him like a life preserver, as if the noise of the aliens behind them might still carry her out to sea.

Valenti glances over to him, but Max has never been in charge of Isobel -- not really. 

“I’ll be at the hospital,” he says. “If you can leave your car here, Mimi and Maria will have a way back. Liz and I will take Michael and Alex, Isobel can drive you back.” 

“Thanks, man,” Valenti says, giving Max an appreciative nod. “Maybe after this is all done, we can grab another drink. This time, with everything in the open.”

Funny how that really doesn’t sound the worst idea in the world.

“It’s a deal,” he confirms. “Maybe this time, we’ll keep all the alien conspiracies out of it.”

Valenti gives a sympathetic laugh and waves as he helps Isobel as they go. No more alien conspiracies, murder cover-ups, or kidnapped family members. 

Wouldn’t that be a hell of a sight to see? 

Max might be feeling overly optimistic, but right now, he actually thinks that just might be possible.

* * *

It’s not the longest surgery Max has ever performed, but he thinks that operating on Alex’s knee had been one of the most difficult. Every time he’d had to make a cut, Michael’s face swam in his mind and it made him even more determined not to mess anything up. He wishes that he could go in and use his powers, but as soon as they had the right knee open, he could see the damage that Jesse’s bullet had done.

“Shit, there’s really nothing left,” one of the other doctors says, preparing the knee replacement. “Poor guy. How’d it happen?”

“He dove in the way of a mugger,” Max parrots the story they’ve been telling everyone as to why Alex is so banged up. “He managed to protect his husband, but took a shot to the knee for it.”

“Ouch. It’s your turn to give a statement, right?”

Thank god it is, too. Seeing as their story only holds up if it stays consistent, Max needs to be the one to go to the station and have Valenti or Cameron take the statement about the damage and how Max can confirm that it’s from a bullet from a gun that, very sadly, will never be recovered.

Max forces himself to focus on Alex not as Alex Guerin, but any other patient on his table. He compartmentalizes his brain and thinks about the body on the table as nothing more than that, which allows him to get through the surgery. Soon enough, Alex has a new knee, he’s been sewn up, and the nurses are taking him out to a room to recuperate. 

“Hey!” Michael rushes him the minute he’s out of surgery, prying off his gown. “How is he, is he okay, did the surgery go well?”

“How’d you even get back here?” Max demands, but one look over Michael’s shoulder and he sees Isobel casually leaning against the wall, wiggling her fingers at him in a wave. He presses his lips together in irritation at the rules being bent like this. “You shouldn’t be back here, either of you,” he warns, pulling off the rest of his surgery gear. “He’s fine, Michael. The surgery went really well, the replacement was routine.” 

Michael lets out a relieved sob, his shoulders sinking with relief.

Isobel wraps her arms around Michael from behind and tugs at Max to complete the hug, pulling them in. “Now you get to be his sexy physical therapist,” she teases Michael.

Michael’s nodding frantically, but he hasn’t said anything. Max doubts he’s had much sleep and the emotion of finding your mother and then almost losing your husband must be wearing at him. Max wishes that he could’ve seen his parents in that place, but at the same time, maybe it’s for the best that he didn’t.

After all, he’s got Ann and Dave Evans, and they’re every bit his parents, no matter what biology says.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Michael babbles, squirming as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeves of his hoodie (a UFO Emporium one that seems a little too small). “At first, it was because we didn’t want your parents seeing a paper trail to our wedding and I let it get away from me. You were always the two of you, and I wanted to protect Alex. I wanted to protect what we had, something for myself,” he rambles. “I’m sorry.”

“Michael,” Isobel soothes. “It’ll be okay. Never keep a secret like that from me again,” she warns, stroking his hair, “but it’s okay.” 

“Come on,” Max says. “I’ll take you to his room and get you settled in,” he says, clapping Michael on the back a few times. “You did good, Michael. You freed our people, you found your Mom, you took care of Jesse and gave Mimi back to Maria. Michael,” he laughs. “Seriously, that’s a hell of a day.”

On the way to the room, Isobel veers off with a nod of her head. Max already knows what she’s off to do, but seeing as Max would’ve done the same (albeit without alien persuasion powers), he’s not about to stop her. 

“He’s in here,” Max says, guiding Michael in with both hands on his shoulders so he can steer him in, grateful that Alex is sleeping peacefully and looks calm and content in the hospital bed even though the orderlies probably only brought him in a few minutes ago. “Take a load off, Michael. You’re allowed to relax.”

“Good,” Michael mumbles, and collapses into the visitor’s chair beside Alex’s bed. “Because I’m done with days like this for the rest of my life.” He reaches out for Alex’s hand, collecting it between both of his. “I can stay, right? They won’t kick me out?”

Max gives him a fond smile.

“As if Isobel isn’t already breaking her rules and convincing them that you can do whatever you want with her powers?”

“Say thanks for me.”

“Thank her yourself later,” Max says. “I gotta get back to work, okay? Text me if you need anything.” 

There’s a quiet noise of agreement from Michael, but Max can tell his whole world has shrunk to Alex. Max spares one last look to Michael, glad that he’s got someone, and it’s why he feels comfortable leaving them there, together. As much as Max wants to give Alex all his attention, he’s been taking a lot of time off work to help get Rosa settled back in and he can’t keep putting work off. 

He’s got rounds to do, patients to check on, and surgeries to prepare for. He’s got a whole life he’s been ignoring lately, thanks to alien drama.

The next chance he gets to check on Alex isn’t for another seven hours, but when he comes into the hospital room, he can tell that Michael has yet to move from his spot.

“There he is,” Rosa praises, mouth full of gift shop chocolate that he’s pretty sure was for Alex. “Dr. Evans, reigning healer.” She gives Alex an amused smirk. “No handprint special for you, huh?”

“From what I hear, that’s a relief for both of us,” Alex guarantees, giving Max a calm smile. “I don’t think he wants to know what happens in my marriage bed.”

Max clears his throat, coughing through the awkwardness. “I’m okay without that. Regular old medicine did the trick this time, and Alex has got a fancy new metal knee.”

“I always wanted to be part robot.”

Max heads deeper into the room, watching Maria shuffling cards. Alex is absently petting Michael’s hair, who’s face down on the hospital bed, snoring away with his cheek pressed snugly against Alex’s hip. He gives his brother a fond look, even if he should have let Max find him a cot. 

Alex tracks Max’s look, giving Michael a loving look. “He collapsed midway through the last hand, I think because he was losing so badly and his ego couldn’t take it,” he jokes. “And,” he adds, when Maria gives him a cutting look, “he’s rightfully exhausted. It’s been a hell of a few days.”

“You’re telling me,” he lets out an exhausted scoff, turning his attention to the other new part about the room. When he first left Alex in here, he could have sworn that it wasn’t overgrown with flowers, but he’s pretty sure the place exploded with bouquets. Eyeing Rosa and Maria, neither of them seem to want to look at him. “Do I want to know whose credit card these are on?”

“Nope,” Maria says.

At the same time as Rosa says, “Kyle’s continued apology to Alex.”

“There’s also a good deal from Flint,” Maria says, reaching over to peek at a card. “Sorry for the belated wedding gift, congratulations that we get to attend a funeral.” She raises both eyebrows. “No love lost for Jesse.”

Alex gives her a pointed look, wordlessly challenging her to say something nice about him.

“No argument here, he was a monster.” 

“I just came in to check on Alex,” he says, but his vitals look good and he’s got plenty of caretakers in the room. “My shift’s over, will one of you tell Michael that he should go home and get some rest?”

Maria and Rosa exchange an amused look. 

Max rolls his eyes, because he doesn’t need to be a mind-reader to know what that means. 

They’ll _try_ , but neither of them are going to have any luck. 

Max feels like he could sleep for days. When he steps outside and into the fresh air outside of Roswell General, he lets out a relieved sob to see Liz sitting in a car at the main entrance, _clearly_ loitering. 

He wanders over, bending down to peer inside. “You know, usually they charge people with pretty hefty tickets when they sit here waiting for someone.”

“Oh, they tried,” Liz vows. “I warned them that they shouldn’t piss off one of their employees and that I was delivering lab equipment.” One quick glance to the backseat proves that she’s not lying and a lot of their research equipment has been moved in. “Then I heard a rumor that Dr. Evans was finally off his shift and his surgery on Alex Guerin was successful. I thought I’d take him home.”

He’s so tired. He knows that he’s got nothing on what Michael and Alex have been through, but he also just worked a full shift after performing surgery on his brother-in-law.

The universe can cut him some slack.

“Liz,” he pleads, collapsing into the passenger seat of her car. “Take me home?” he pleads, giving her the saddest puppy-dog eyes he’s got, turning his head towards her against the headrest.

She gives him a fond look, reaching over to push locks of messy hair out of his eyes, her touch cool and refreshing against his warmth. 

“Your place or mine?” she asks.

Luckily, even as exhausted as he is, that’s an easy one. “Wherever you are,” he breathes out, feeling relaxed and blissful and beat. “That’s home.”

* * *

Now that Max knows about Michael’s secret marriage, all those times over the last decade where Michael turned up wildly late for dinner have begun to make sense in this new light. He was probably distracted by Alex, not wanting to leave to join them for sibling meals. With the secret out in the open, though, there’s no excuse.

So where the hell is he?

Max forces himself not to check his watch _again_ , but the urge is almost overwhelming, given that dinner had been set for six and it’s already quarter past and there’s no sign of them.

“Did Michael say when he and Alex were coming over?” Liz asks him, like she can tell that the stress is eating him alive.

“Later than it is now,” Max says irritably, wishing that he’d listened to Isobel’s advice about giving them a fake time. 

Liz presses her lips together with amusement, leaning up on her tiptoes to rest her chin on Max’s shoulder. “Look,” she whispers. “Headlights on the horizon.” 

There are, too, which means that he can settle slightly. If dinner wound up getting cold on a table because they couldn’t be on time, he’d never hear the end of it from Isobel. He lets go of his stress, glad that they’re here. Liz heads back inside, but Max heads out to meet them at the car, mindful that Alex isn’t so far removed from the surgery and might need help. 

“Hey,” Max greets Alex warmly, dragging him in for a hug as soon as he’s out of the car. “Good to see you.” When he draws back, he notices that Alex is sporting a new cane in place of his crutch. His eyes slide suspiciously to Michael, because that looks a little like there’s a sword in the body of the scabbard. “Should I ask?” he wonders.

“I wouldn’t,” Alex says calmly, clapping Max on the shoulder before he heads inside, leaning on the cane to help him. He can hear Alex greeting Liz, Valenti, and Isobel, which gives Max the chance to head out to the car and help Michael with the groceries he’d picked up for dinner. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Michael says. “He was having a really rough pain day, so I let him have a few of the painkillers. He was still sleeping until an hour ago,” he explains.

“It’s fine,” Max says, his earlier anger melting away. “Michael, did you buy him a sword cane?”

“I bought him a cane that may or may not have had a sword in it once.”

“And does it now?”

Michael hitches up the groceries, deliberately not answering as he heads inside. Max shakes his head, suddenly grateful that Jesse already had a tragic car accident, otherwise Max suspects they’d have to cover up why his body had a hole through it in the shape of a sword. 

That manufactured car accident has been holding water, which Max is grateful for. He hadn’t been there to see the diagnosis from the coroner, but he had seen the autopsy report along with the coroner’s notes.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a person so cancer-ridden before in his life. It had taken over every single part of his body, to the point that it had almost been _impressive_ in how little it had missed. The coroner had commented that he might have deliberately swerved in his car, given the advanced state of his disease, calling it either an accidental vehicular death or an intended suicide to spare himself the pain.

“Liz and Valenti are in the living room and since you’re our guest, you’re expected,” Max guides, taking Alex’s jacket. Before Michael can go with him, Max yanks at his collar, “and Isobel is in the kitchen waiting for your help.”

Michael lets out a pleading sound, like he just wants to go and be social, but he grumbles and frog-marches right into the kitchen, which is mostly because Max gets his hands on Michael’s shoulders and pushes him in that direction. 

“Good,” Isobel says, when she sees Michael. “Chop onions, I don’t want to ruin my makeup.” 

Michael sighs and hauls himself up onto the counter, the knife lifting itself up in the air and starting to chop the onions without him even being near.

“Cheater,” she accuses.

Michael shrugs, clearly not caring. “So? I have to be careful too. I also just put my makeup on,” he mocks, gesturing to his clearly non-made up face.

Isobel gives him a cutting look. “You shouldn’t joke about that, you could use some concealer. The bags under your eyes are getting ready for a trip around the world in 80 days.”

“Guys,” Max cuts in calmly, with the tired sigh of an older brother who’s heard this argument too many times.

“Truce,” the two of them echo as one, even if they both sound reluctant to do it. Michael finishes with the onions and hops off the counter to put them in the salad, washing the knife and dishes while Isobel instructs him on what else needs doing.

Max knows he should fill the void with another conversation topic, otherwise it’s going to be something he’d rather not talk about, but before he can ask about Alex’s bad pain day, Isobel beats him to the topic. 

“So, you and Liz Ortecho,” Isobel says slyly. “I heard you’re getting serious. Milkshake dates, picnics, horseback riding, and every other boring romance novel cover you could imagine. Your hair even makes you look like one of those Fabios.”

“You sure you want to play this game?” Max fires back. “You and Deputy Valenti? Mom gives me all the gossip on the two of you, and I might be trying to re-enact a romance novel, but you two sound like you’re getting ready to be a power couple, with you aiming for Roswell’s inevitable first lady.”

“Mayor Valenti,” Isobel says thoughtfully. “He’d look good in a sash, wouldn’t he?”

“He’d look good in most things,” Michael admits with the begrudging confession of someone who wishes he weren’t saying it. 

From what Max understands, Valenti and Alex have been on decent terms lately, with Valenti even dropping by the apartment for drinks. It sounds like Michael’s going to have to learn to tolerate him.

“I’m just saying,” Max protests, “that if we keep playing this game, I’m going to win. You two are ahead of us. You got together first.”

“And you had a decade and a half of pathetic pining before you got your act together! Mom should be bugging you about wedding bells!”

“I hate this game,” Max mutters, because there really is no winning. 

Michael reaches for the wine and the glasses as he watches them both like it’s a tennis match. “I don’t know, I love it. For once, I get to be the mature one in a steady marriage. Shit,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “I could even give you guys tips on how to woo your significant others.” He’s smirking as he pours wine into glasses while Isobel grabs the tongs for the salad, and honestly, Max is willing to let him boast gleefully.

He deserves to brag about his healthy relationship to them and be as loud and proud as he wants to be.

“You’re lucky I’ve decided to stop being mad at you about that,” Isobel warns Michael with a salad tong pointed in his direction.

That could, coincidentally, have something to do with the fact that she and Michael had spent hours with Alex at his bedside during his hospital recovery. Alex couldn’t run away and Michael refused to leave his side, so it left them open to Isobel’s probing. Alex had gone the extra mile, letting Isobel dive into his head and live all the moments over the last decade that she’d missed.

“You still bitch at me,” Michael points out, which is also true. Maybe it’s an alien thing, because he’s pretty sure all three of them are too stubborn for their own good. He’s apologized for the secret-keeping, too, but Max knows that Isobel’s teasing isn’t truly born of anger these days.

“Fine, I’m not mad at _Alex_ anymore,” Isobel says, lifting up the crystal salad bowl to bring it to the table. “Michael’s bringing the wine, get your asses to the table, people!”

Max taps Michael’s knee to ease him along, now that everything in the kitchen is done and his purpose has been fulfilled. They make it to the dinner table and Isobel puts on an incredible showing from the salad through the roast to dessert.

“Has she always been this good of a cook?” Michael leans over to ask.

Max snorts, because looking back, Michael really had missed out on a lot what with his secret marriage keeping him away. “Don’t ask that too loudly or she’ll melt your brain.”

Michael nods dutifully, leaning over to kiss Alex’s cheek while picking dessert off his plate, even though Alex keeps smacking at his wrist with his fork to try and get him to stop, relenting when it’s impossible and Michael is going to eat every piece of chocolate there.

Max doesn’t realize how much he’s smiling until he feels a light kick to his boot and looks over to see Liz giving him an adoring grin. 

“Everything good?” she whispers teasingly.

Seeing as Max’s poker face is terrible, she already knows exactly how content he is. 

“You’re here. It’s perfect.”

He takes ridiculous pleasure in the way her cheeks flush and Max knows he’s done the right thing. He knows he’s taken all the right steps, and he’s so glad that he’d figured it out. He reaches out for Liz’s hand, letting his thumb slide over the back of her palm gently as they sit and listen to Valenti and Alex bicker good-naturedly over some old childhood affront involving a treehouse and a ‘no girls allowed’ sign and whose idea it was.

Once the topic dies down and dessert has been cleared, Liz leads Valenti and Alex to the sitting room, showing them the old photo book Max had leant her, leading them down memory lane.

“How many embarrassing photos of me are in there?” Isobel asks warily as she glances at the book they’re holding, bringing cutlery into the kitchen to be washed.

“As if you didn’t influence Mom and Dad to throw out all the bad pictures. If anyone should be worried, it’s Michael.”

“No shame,” Michael says from the kitchen, where he’s loading the dishwasher. 

He’s frantic in his movements. He loads the dishwasher too fast, washes the dishes a little too hard, and as soon as the kitchen is scrubbed clean, immediately heads out to the firepit, where he starts pacing around it once he gets it lit. Something is clearly going on, and has been building up since dinner, seeing as Michael seemed fairly normal when they got here. 

It’s been ten minutes of pacing and when Max peeks out the front window, Michael’s tugging at his hair, muttering inaudibly to himself. 

Max thinks it’s time to have pity on him. “Should we go hear what he wants to say?” Max asks Isobel.

She sips her wine, her eyes fixed on him thoughtfully. “Two more minutes.”

Max rolls his eyes. “Isobel,” he chides.

“Fine, whatever, we’ll go now.”

Max wanders over as Michael is leaning over to add more wood to the pile, standing back to fidget in its warmth, giving them an appreciative smile. “I was pretty obvious, huh?” he scoffs.

“You look like you’re about to take off running,” Isobel says. “So something is going on, and given how our lives have been these last six months, I’m almost afraid to ask.”

Michael gives them both an apologetic smile, and Max braces himself for whatever it is that Michael thinks he needs to tell them. 

“Listen,” Michael says, dragging one of the chairs around to form a circle around the firepit. “There’s something I need to tell you guys,” he says, bowing his head towards the fire. He’s got his face in the glass of wine, like he needs it for courage, and all of a sudden Max is having flashbacks to the restaurant in Albuquerque last year, when Max had asked them to come to Roswell.

There’s something like dread building, because Max has a feeling he knows what’s coming. 

“Alex and I are leaving,” Michael says. “I wanted you two to hear it from me, even though I’m pretty sure he’s inside telling Liz and Valenti, because Maria and Rosa found out an hour ago and god knows they both like to share gossip.” He gives them an uncertain look, setting his wine to the side as he leans forward, with his forearms on his thighs. “I came back here because you guys are my family and I was worried, admittedly, about Iz having blackouts...”

Max lets the words sink in, trying to place how he feels.

He can’t say he’s expecting this, but he’s also somehow not surprised. It had been hell dragging Michael back to Roswell in the first place and he’s noticed that Michael’s been careful not to put down roots. His apartment lease is month to month, his job at the school is temporary, covering a maternity leave, and Michael hadn’t even wanted to unpack his apartment until Max had forcibly done it for him.

For him, Roswell’s always been a resting stop before he gets to his final destination.

“Noah’s dealt with, Globemallow’s gonna be great. Even if we don’t know how long they have left, at least I know they’re not being hurt. I was never coming back to Roswell permanently and even without Jesse here, I don’t think this place is home for me. We’ll still be back to visit regularly, especially with Mom still around, but this isn’t home for us,” Michael admits, rubbing his hand over his jeans as he glances back over his shoulder to the humans inside, watching them laugh over the photo book. “We’re going to try finding a place with a garage so we can take as much of the ship as we can, which’ll take a few trips, so it’ll be a slow departure.”

“What do you mean, the ship?” Max asks.

The penny drops at the same time for him as it does for Isobel, and Michael looks away with one last guilty look. “Last secret,” he vows. “I promise.” 

Max lets out an incredulous laugh, but honestly, at this point, at least Michael is telling them that they’re leaving and not just moving away to protect them from something else. 

“When are you going?” Max asks.

“We’ve got three houses narrowed down in California,” Michael says, giving them an anxious look as he waits for the news to land. “I’ve got a job offer out there and Alex plans to freelance with some of the tech companies when he’s not picking up some music gigs. We uh, we were gonna head out there to look at houses and if all goes well, we’d move out before the new school year.”

That’s less than two months for them to spend together in Roswell. 

Then again, they had ten years in Albuquerque. Max knows he’s being selfish to want more, but he does. He also knows he doesn’t have a right to demand it. 

“So this is it,” Isobel says. “The beginning of the end.”

Above them, it’s a beautiful night. Out here, without the light pollution, it’s easy to see the universe sprawling above them, with home being one of them (maybe). It’s vast and expansive and beautiful, but it’s not home anymore. Max’s family is here, around this firepit, inside the house behind him, in Roswell. 

For now, at least. 

“We were never gonna stick together forever,” Max admits, as much as it pains him to say it. “I’m proud of you, Michael. I’m glad you’re finally picking you.”

“It’s not me,” Michael admits. “I’m picking Alex.”

“We’re gonna miss you so much,” says Isobel, not bothering to hide the fact that there are tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Good thing plane tickets exist, huh?” Michael’s laughing, but Max can see the way he’s struggling to hold himself together. His gaze is on the living room inside, where they can all hear the delighted laughter as their significant others go through embarrassing moments in their past, while they sit out here and talk about their futures. “You’re always going to be my family, no matter where I live, as long as you’ll have me.”

Max laughs, the sound surprising him, because how can Michael even think they wouldn’t want him, even now?

“I got bad news for you,” Max says, and smiles at Michael, even if his brow is furrowed and it’s a painful thing to think of Roswell without him, “You’re our forever family, Michael.”

Michael lets out a pained sob, shaking his head as he buries his face in his palms, groaning. “Fuck you,” he protests, the words muffled. “I didn’t want to cry tonight.”

“Join the club,” Isobel accuses, sniffling and glaring at Max. “I really didn’t want to mess up my eyeliner.” She digs out a tissue and curls up on herself, clearly more raccoon than sexy cat-eye look at this point. 

Max stands by what he’s said. 

“Hey! I’m pouring wine!” Liz calls from inside. “Stop having a secret alien invasion talk and come inside!”

“Well?” Max says. “You heard the better half. Let’s go,” he says, extending his hand to Isobel and helping her up. He gives her a brief hug, sending her in, but when he hauls Michael to his feet, he grabs him and keeps him in his arms tightly, so damn proud, and so conflicted at the same time. “It’s about time,” is all he says. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

“Yeah, just gotta avoid doing that literally,” Michael quips, but he hasn’t let go of Max. “Thanks, man, for being my family when I needed it. Especially when I tried to ruin it all. That night, after the cave, it could’ve gone so badly, but you made sure that me and Iz were okay. You took care of us.”

It’s what brothers do, in Max’s opinion. 

“And you took care of Alex, for ten years,” Max admits. “Maybe now, with all the secrets out in the open, and no one needing protection, you can let your two families be one?”

Michael nods, not making a joke of it as he releases Max, squeezing his shoulder as he turns him towards the house. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He begins to walk them towards the soft amber light and the warm happy family inside.

“It’s time for us to be a real family.”

* * *

_Five Years Later_

“Incoming!”

“Michael,” Isobel hisses, “That is my child, can you not carry him upside down?”

Max tips his head to the side, watching as Isobel’s son giggles and protests that he’s fine with Uncle Michael, that he’s having fun, but that doesn’t seem to calm down Isobel, who pinches the bridge of her nose. He doesn’t want to get hit, so he doesn’t say it, but these days, she definitely reminds him of Mom. 

Flynn, all of three years old, with his piercing blue eyes and chaotic shaggy black hair giggles from where Michael is walking with him upside down, swaying him side to side like a church bell. 

“When he pukes, Michael is cleaning it up,” Isobel mutters viciously, reaching for her red plastic cup filled with white wine. 

It’s a beautiful day for the five year anniversary of Globemallow’s salvation. The sun’s shining, but they’ve got enough shade from the greenery surrounding them to make it tolerable. 

The grass has started to grow outside Globemallow. 

By all rights, it shouldn’t have, but some of the aliens had shown them the magnitude of their powers. With them unbridled and unafraid, the land around the former prison has blossomed and bloomed, like its namesake. Trees grow with deep roots and every last bar from the windows is gone from the building. 

They’ve lost some of their own, but to age and not cruelty.

Michael finally flips Flynn the right side up, adjusting his little khakis and bending down to whisper loudly to go join his cousins. He doesn’t need convincing, going screaming towards Rosie and Victor, eager to show Max’s twins the plastic toy that Uncle Michael just pressed into his hands.

Max gives him a tired look, not looking forward to the lecture from Liz if one of the kids ends up hurt.

“They won’t choke on it, it’s too big,” Michael protests, collapsing down on the picnic blanket with the both of them. 

Max isn’t so sure he agrees, but he sighs heavily and decides to focus on catching up with him instead of worrying constantly about his children choking on a toy Michael gave them. He knows that wouldn’t happen -- Alex would stop it before it did. 

“How long are the two of you in town for?” 

Max still remembers, five years ago, that he kept thinking that Michael would change his mind. He’d stick around and stay with them, but then a moving truck had shown in August, taking Alex and Michael away from Roswell and onto their new lives. Given that the town isn’t a treasure trove of good memories _and_ the fact that they’d be stifling their careers to stick around, he should have known better. Max knows that they’d never find the same opportunities in town, given that Michael’s consulting with JPL and Alex works with a tech company on their security.

When they come back, Max’s guest room belongs to them and is always open for a visit, no matter how short notice.

“Just a few days,” Michael admits. “We got a new dog,” he says proudly. “So we need to be back so we can bring her home from the rescue shelter.”

“What is that, four?” Isobel says derisively. “You’re lucky that your house is so gorgeous and has plenty of space. Otherwise you’d be swimming in dog fur.”

Max gives his siblings a fond look, taking a moment out of the chaos of the day and letting their bickering wash over him while he drifts off. The kids are shrieking nearby about ‘unfair power use’ in the water balloon war, Alex is playing guitar for the adults, and Valenti is dressed up like a pretty princess for Rosie and Victor, dazzling in rhinestones. Rosa’s sitting nearby with her head in Maria’s lap, sketching on a notepad for the next issue of her successful comic-book series, _The Roswell Files_. 

It’s a far cry from the lonely and cold cave they sat in fifteen years ago. 

“Earth to Max,” Michael prompts. “What’s up?”

“Did you ever think that night when we left Rosa in the cave that we’d get here?” he wonders. His eyes search the party and land on Liz. As ever, she’s a beacon for him. He stares at her in amazement, loving the way the glowing light of sunset illuminates her, making her somehow more beautiful.

Isobel’s staring at him fondly, squeezing his shoulder. “What?” she teases. “Michael with his two PhDs and his stupid fur army? You, with your happy family life and steady attending job? Or me,” she boasts, “with the cutest child in town and my name on the building.”

“Seriously, though, Iz, he’s definitely the cutest,” Michael says evenly, smirking at Max as though he isn’t taking sides about his niece and nephews. “I’m kidding! I’m joking!” he protests when Max gives him a warning look. “I know, I know, I’m not taking sides! All your children are messy little paint monsters and my dogs are _actually_ the most adorable, specifically Angel, because how do you look that little teacup dog in her cute little eyes and tell her that she’s not the cutest child.”

Max cuffs him around the neck and hauls him into a hug. 

“My kids are cuter than your dog.”

“Okay, maybe like, half of my dogs,” Michael argues. 

“Which, honestly, you could send less pictures of them. When I text you that I want to talk to you more, I don’t need pictures of your dogs being carried or Alex first thing in the morning.” Max is pretty sure Alex doesn’t want those pictures being sent either.

Isobel pops a canape in her mouth. “Speak for yourself, I’ll keep taking the Alex pictures.”

“Right,” Michael deadpans. “Because your husband isn’t hot enough, Mrs. Evans-Valenti.”

“Guys,” Max protests, but he’s laughing warmly. “Michael only visits so often, are you really going to spend it bickering?” 

“It’s not a Michael visit if we don’t,” Isobel says fondly, and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, ruffling his hair playfully. 

“And as much as I’d love to continue, I gotta go,” Michael says, jumping to his feet as he looks across the landscape. “Mom’s out of lemonade and that’s my cue.” He nods for Alex across the way, which means that they’ll be occupied for the next little while catching up as their own little family. 

Isobel gives him an apologetic look. “I should go too. Mom’s been talking to Kyle for the last twenty minutes and he’s got that pinched look that says she’s asking about more grandkids,” she jokes, using Max’s shoulder to help push to her feet. 

Max sprawls out and watches the scene around him, enjoying it for what it is while there are no expectations on him to be a doctor, a father, a leader, or anything in between. Right now, Max can just observe and love this family of his. He wanders around the party and talks to a few of their family members, stopping to talk to his Dad before spending time listening to stories from uncles and cousins about their home planet and where they came from.

He knows they don’t have much time left, but Rosa and Maria have been doing an incredible job with Mimi to document as much as they can so that Max, Isobel, and their children will know where they came from. 

Eventually, the last fading rays of sunset dip below the horizon and Max knows that the party’s over. 

Max helps the aliens back into their rooms, still amazed at what Mimi’s done with the place. They’d taken the funding from Jesse’s coffers and turned the place into a warm home for them to feel safe. There’s only eight left, but Max knows that while they’re here, Mimi will continue to take good care of them.

Once he’s done, he heads back to the front of Globemallow to look out over the horizon, completely unrecognizable from how it was five years ago on this day. 

“Max?” 

Max startles back to reality, drawn from his thoughts, seeing Liz standing on the horizon. The dusk light on her face makes her look ethereal, even after all these years together. 

He feels caught, even though he’s not doing anything other than letting his nostalgia get the better of him, and every step he takes towards him only makes him smile more. 

“Are you okay?” Liz asks, her tupperware already under her arm. She’s ready to go and she’s coming to collect Max to bring him home. “You look...sad.”

“No,” Max says instantly. “No, it’s not that. It’s the complete opposite. It’s disbelief,” he confesses. “It all seems too good to be true.” Though, of course, it’s only too good to be true if he ignores things like the alighting or the bomb they discovered coded to their DNA or the kidnappings or the fact that Hank and Wyatt Long are assholes and Valenti nearly bled out from a stray gunshot that Max had to fix.

(That had been a very awkward week of his handprint on Valenti’s chest)

There’s been a lot to cope with over the past five years, but it pales in comparison to the happiness he’s had with his loving wife and his incredible kids. 

“It’s not too good to be true, not when you’ve earned your happiness,” Liz says, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You deserve every minute of it. You all do.” 

He can see Michael and Isobel waiting for them near the cars, refusing to leave until he goes. Liz’s words resonate and he feels a familial warmth surge over him, making him so relieved that they’ve all found their own versions of a happy ending. Kissing Liz’s temple, he buries his face in her hair for a moment to smell her shampoo. “Can you get the kids ready? I’ll be there in a second.”

“Sure,” she says, pressing a hand to his back before she heads over to the twins, shouting that it’s time to load up the van. 

Max ambles over to join his siblings, stepping between them as Isobel wraps her arms around his waist and Michael drapes an arm around his shoulders. Looking up at Globemallow, Max is so proud that they could give this to their people, even if it took them seventy-five years and Mimi’s capable talents to do it.

“It was such a good day, Max,” Isobel praises. “This was a great event.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “We can thank Mimi and Maria for the idea.”

“Maybe later,” Isobel says teasingly, curling in with him. “Are we still on for tomorrow?” she asks, giving Michael an expectant look. 

“Yup, telekinesis lessons with Uncle Michael,” he confirms. “And then Uncle Alex wants to teach them about personal privacy and security again,” he notes wryly. “Just remember to knock and don’t come in without warning, this is kind of like a vacation for us and…”

“Oh, and what? You need to get away from the dogs to do it?” Isobel interrupts to tease.

“Whiskey has very sad, sensitive eyes. He _knows_ ,” Michael complains.

Isobel laughs warmly and reaches around Max to flick Michael’s ear, but he takes it with a big grin, knocking into Max so that he ends up careening into Isobel on the other side.

“You know we’re happy to have ‘em, always,” Michael guarantees. 

“We know,” Isobel says. “You trust us.”

“Damn right I do, you’re my family.”

That makes Max feel _right_ , like they finally did something that they can all be proud of. Michael’s trust means the world, Isobel’s strength, and Liz’s love all make Max feel like a god, standing above the mortals. It’s not his powers that make him invincible, it’s the love of his kids and his family. It’s what he’s built for himself that makes him stronger than he ever thought he could be. 

“Come on,” Max says. “Let’s go home.”

He knows that doesn’t mean a planet several galaxies away. It’s here, with Michael when he’s in town. It’s with Isobel in their daily conversations. It’s in his beautiful family. It’s in the way Liz smiles at him first thing in the morning and kisses him before she goes to brew a pot of coffee. For Max, Roswell _is_ home and never more than when all his people are here where he can love them and be loved by them.

He’s home, and he never plans to leave. 

Lucky, then, that Max doesn’t think that’s a problem he’ll have to face anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe it’s over (though at the same time, wow, it also felt like this was a long ride). This isn’t my swan song of Roswell fic, because I still plan to write more, but it does feel like a conclusion in some ways. When I began writing this, it was because I wanted to know what it would be like to have Dr. Max Evans being a healer because of his powers and Deputy Kyle Valenti because his family legacy expected it of him. From there, it grew into something that I wanted to explore what season 1 could have looked like with more external conflicts versus romantic ones internally driving it and hopefully a touch more adulthood and maturity. I don’t think that I’ll be writing quite as frequently, though by no means does it mean I’m dropping off the face of the Earth as I have a few oneshots and Big Bangs left.
> 
> To those of you along the way who left comments, I can’t tell you how much it meant. There were moments when it felt uphill to get some of this done, but to have your support meant the world. 
> 
> Originally, I had planned to do some timestamps, but I think this is going to be the natural conclusion and I will simply let people’s imaginations go wild, but leaving everyone with a couple pieces of the future of this ‘verse:  
> 
> 
> * Globemallow looks a bit [like this](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c164968b93e85214878bb3d4277f53b0/tumblr_n9yqzyoTVr1tu2m70o1_640.jpg), with a smattering of trees as well (desert willows and chilean mesquites)  
> 
> * By the time Rosa is 25, she has a successful comic book series about aliens (which Michael hates because at this point, she has to be getting his nose wrong on purpose), and has finished a degree at the community college. Maria’s been waiting forever to ask her out, waiting until she has control of her own life. Both Alex and Michael have bets on when it’ll happen and they both lose. Maria waits longer to make sure that Rosa is mature enough and the age difference matters less because they’re both at the same stage in life  
> 
> * Michael and Alex are goaded into having a recommitment ceremony at the Globemallow site by Isobel, in which their dogs and Isobel’s kid had to fight it out to be ringbearer, and in the end, Flynn accompanies Whiskey down the hall with a tiny hand in his fur to walk him along  
> 
> * Alex and Michael have four rescue dogs. Whiskey (an Irish Wolfhound), who is a giant junkyard dog, Angel (pomeranian) who rules the roost, Halley (a golden retriever) who stops walking and makes Alex carry her home, and Solo (a shiba inu) who likes to wear little bowties. All except for Whiskey fight for the spot on the bed, but Whiskey sleeps on a rug at the end like the mature old dog he is  
> 
> * All three kids spend their summers in California at their special Uncle Alex & Uncle Michael STEM camp, where they learn about science and engineering and programming while exploring the forest around [the house](https://discord.com/channels/@me/602307190891479041/694008283433795665)). By the end, both Alex and Michael are extra firm about the fact that they do not need kids. Isobel and Kyle take full advantage of the privacy by having sex in every room in the house, Isobel’s office, and once at the station (where they worked hard not to get caught by Sheriff Valenti)  
> 
> * Victor and Rosie are fraternal twins named for Victor Frankenstein (Max’s choice) and Rosa (Liz’s)  
> 
> * Max and Liz’s study got them published in a paper and they often travel to give talks about it, and even though Max lets Liz talk about all the relevant science parts and he’s only there for the medicine, he wouldn’t have it any other way

**Author's Note:**

> Got things to say/shout/ask? I'm on [tumblr](https://andrea-lyn.tumblr.com/).


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